


Paved With Good Intentions

by JayEz



Series: Road To War [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types, captain america: civil war - Fandom
Genre: Advanced Idea Mechanics, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Avengers Family, Avengers vs. Media, Brotherhood of Mutants, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, I promise feels and porn and plot, Inhumans (Marvel), Multi, Mutants, Politics, Publicity, Slow Build, Superhero Registration Act, Team Feels, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Feels, Tony-centric, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 136,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following their first date, Tony tries not to screw up his relationship with Steve too badly before it inevitably ends (<em>‘cause let’s be honest, Steve can do so much better and deserves it too</em>) while Bucky, Pietro and Bruce are tearing through the East and Africa in their fight against Hydra and AIM.<br/>Soon after the two groups are reunited, however, a bill is introduced to Congress that will split not only the public, but also the Avengers Family. </p>
<p>Sequel to “The Path I Started”. Still a post-AoU fix-it, but with smut-induced higher rating, more feels, and even more plot.<br/>[<strong>EDIT:</strong> currently on hiatus but NOT abandoned; reasons include <a href="https://igg.me/at/thehacker">my second short film, "The Hacker"</a>, which is based on my Bondlock fic =) ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Courtship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, y’all! I promise lots of Avengers-related feels, plot, a healthy dose of smut, and a very bright, happy light at the end of this – admittedly at times rather dark – tunnel. 
> 
> The Clint/Pietro part of this fic will take a while and is very slow build (as in, Pietro isn't even stateside yet slow). Please don’t let it deter you, okay? Give the pairing a chance? 
> 
> **Warnings** are partially in the tags but I’ll include chapter-specific ones as well if necessary. For ch1, warnings for alcoholism, anxiety… and smut. Any relevant links will be in the endnotes. 
> 
> Thanks to [brittbritt1997](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brittbritt1997/pseuds/brittbritt1997) for beta-ing services =) 
> 
> **EDIT 07-2016:** This work is on hiatus, not abandoned. I will finish this, but Real Life is hectic right now and my Muse feels more at home in the DCU with ColdFlash. Part of why RL is so all-consuming is because I'm finally finishing my studies, yay!   
>  Oh, and making my next **short film =)** It's inspired/based on my Bondlock fic "Loyal in Adversity", so if you're interested in that you can sign up for updates on our [Coming Soon page on Indiegogo](). You can also find me at www.jays-lair.com, if thou art so inclined =)

Forget booze, forget alien invasions, forget wormholes – Tony Stark is going to die of blue balls. 

The universe seems to be having it out for him ‘cos every time he thinks he can _finally_ take things further with Steve, something happens. It’s as if International Bad Guys Inc. waited until Iron Man got back into the field to make a nuisance of themselves again. 

Psychological warfare, that’s what it is, seriously. How is Tony supposed to concentrate when Steve’s in full Captain Mode, shouting orders, saving people and kicking ass in his skintight uniform? 

At least this entire resurgence of villain-y (villainous?) activity helps prove how powerful the New Avengers actually are, Tony’s willing to concede that. Wanda and Vision have become their biggest guns to date and their opponents are always trying to take them out first, of course failing miserably every single time. 

But other than that it’s all just a giant pain in the ass, though exactly the wrong kind of pain Tony would like to maybe some day soon feel in his ass… Yeah, not his best pun, but he’s not on top of his game, all right? 

Anyway, his ordeal starts like this. 

*

**Date #2**

Steve picks him up with his motorcycle, wearing sturdy pants and a leather jacket and Tony feels like he’s thirteen when he scrambles to get on the bike and wrap his hands around Steve’s waist. 

They go to a small theatre in Brooklyn which Steve remembers form his time in the neighborhood and Tony is sure that they did actually watch something but he was too busy intertwining his fingers with Steve’s to pay much attention. He gets to act like the teenager he never allowed himself to be, spending half his attention on trying desperately to make Howard proud, to win his approval, and the other half on doing everything he could to piss the guy off. 

“I’m in charge of the next date,” Tony decides as Steve drops him off in the tower’s garage, actually walking him to the elevator and _damn_ , if Tony had less restraint he’d push Steve up against the metal doors and show him five minutes in heaven. 

He has mastered impulse control at some point in his life, though, no matter what Pepper will have you believe, so he doesn’t do that. 

“Don’t go overboard, Tony.”

“Overboard? Why would I go overboard? I’m the paragon of frugality, really, how can you question –”

“No helicopter rides,” Steve interrupts with a smirk and great, there’s _that_ plan out the window, “no stealing reservations to five-star restaurants from other people who’ve been waiting for months to go there. You don’t need to dazzle me, Tony, not like that.”

“So that’s a no to taking the trip to Hawaii?” he quips, ‘cos humor is the only way he’s going to get out of this conversation without dragging Steve into his apartment and chaining him to the radiator to make sure he never, ever gets the chance to tire of Tony and leave. 

“A resounding no.”

“Saturday?”

Steve nods, leaning down for a kiss that’s soft and chaste and makes Tony’s knees go weak. 

*

**Date #3**

Tony’s not supposed to dazzle but he still aims to impress, and with the ever-helpful aid of J.J. he finds the perfect thing for them to do on Saturday. 

Steve meets him in the garage at the black R8 Spyder with the top down, which is marginally less flashy than the orange Coupé. 

“I don’t see how taking me out in a 150,000 dollar car is you restraining yourself, Tony,” Steve apparently feels the need to point out. 

“Shut up, you love that car,” is Tony’s witty reply and he stifles any other protests by pushing Steve against said car’s door and kissing the breath out of him. “Now let’s go, we’ve got somewhere to be.”

When Steve realizes Tony is taking him to the Target Free Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum, which offers a lot of art, music and entertainment programs for free once a month, he smiles so wide it got to hurt. They’re both somewhat incognito (baseball caps and beanies are a superhero’s best friend) and whoever is responsible in the universe for stuff like that seems to want to reward Tony’s idea and ensures no one recognizes them. 

Everyone’s too busy having fun and soaking up the music and culture to notice them anyway, even though a lot of people give Steve the once-over until Tony glares at them while placing a possessive hand on Steve’s lower back. Not that he’s worried; Steve made it pretty clear that fidelity’s extremely high on his list of Valued Relationship Aspects, but Tony’s always had a slight jealous streak and abandonment issues that span the Grand Canyon… so yeah. Hand on Steve’s back. 

*

**Date #4**

It’s Steve’s turn again and he drags them both out to the DUMBO to look at Jane’s Carousel which is even older than Steve. They actually get within sight of the monstrosity early Saturday evening before both their phones ring with the Avengers alarm. 

Apparently dealing with enchanted killer butterflies (yeah, that’s not something Tony ever expected to see) takes priority over date night, no matter how loudly Tony complains that they’ve got a witch now and “why can’t she deal with that, they’ll be through with the things before we even get to Rhode Island!” but Steve’s already transformed into Captain Rogers, his arms crossed as he stares Tony into activating his armor and flying them to meet the quinjet that’s en route and holding Cap’s uniform and the rest of their merry band of heroes.

“See? Easy-peasy, the team could’ve done that without us!” Tony insists as he takes out what feels like the gazillionth butterfly (who are sorta awesome and pretty, truth be told, even if they uproot entire trees and apparently eat small mammals).

“Seriously Tones, if you’re always so cranky when we interrupt date night I’ll sure as hell vote for not calling you in,” Rhodey teases him over the coms, a chorus of affirmative grunts in his wake. 

The team knows ‘cos Steve has been advocating a policy of honesty and righteousness, though they don’t really comment on it since both Steve and Tony asked them not to. They can really do without the continuous pressure of “So how’re things going?” aimed at them every five minutes. 

“I’d like to remind everyone of communication protocols,” Cap chides and Tony shoots a butterfly behind him, saving him from the thing’s teeth sinking into his shoulder but also splattering goo everywhere which is a bitch to get out of fabric and hair and by the time everyone’s clean and debriefed all they want to do is sleep, so there’s that. 

*

**Date #5**

After over a week of just texts and video calls, mostly due to the fact that Tony has been postponing a few vital things Pepper’s been bugging him about, including the final sign-off on SI mass-producing Taylor Wilson’s small fission reactors, Tony decides, _fuck it_ , and kidnaps Steve after lunch on Sunday from the facility with his private jet. 

Steve sulks for five minutes, then looks out the window and gets lost in sketching the clouds and the ground below them for the next three hours while Tony is pressed against his side and working on his tablet. 

Tony stocked the jet with sandwiches and they eat standing near the small kitchen. It is Steve who leans in to kiss a few crumbs off the corner of Tony’s mouth, which leads to lazy kissing with Steve’s strong hands on either side of Tony’s face and his own on Steve’s hips. 

He looses track of time, which has never happened before through kissing alone, but Steve’s introducing Tony to a whole array of novel experiences, like – _oh, fuck_ – the feeling of Steve’s erection against his hip when he shifts and closes the gap between their bodies.

“Tony,” Steve gasps, his hands sliding off his jaw to grip the counter top, fingers inches away from Tony’s hips. 

He’s not stopping, not pulling back, so Tony takes a chance and trails his hand down Steve’s t-shirt, coming to a stop over the silver buckle of his belt. 

“This too fast?” he whispers against the shell of Steve’s ear, then presses his hand lower, against the bulge at the front of the beige slacks. 

“I’m not sure.” Steve’s voice is low and rough, only making the arousal in Tony’s veins run hotter.

“One word and I’ll stop,” he promises, then proceeds to open Steve’s belt and unbuttons the pants one-handedly, his left curled around Steve’s biceps. 

Hands grip his hips as he pushes the slacks down, revealing a pair of black underwear, the head of Steve’s erection jutting out of the waistband. Tony’s mouth waters but he’s got a plan, and a blowjob might actually be too much right now. He just wants to get his hands on Steve, see what sounds he can pull from him, how much pressure he needs to make him moan. 

Tony quickly brings his left hand down to help with lowering the underwear, then cups Steve’s jaw and angles his head for another kiss. Steve’s eyes are heavily lidded and dark, breath coming in short gasps as Tony pulls back. 

When he wraps his fingers around Steve’s erection, his palm covers maybe half the shaft. Tony can already imagine how hot and heavy it will feel on his tongue, how much it will stretch him, because its length and girth is actually proportional to the rest of Steve’s body and damn, Tony needs to get a hand on his dick _now_. 

“I can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” Tony whispers into Steve’s ear, and the other man curses under his breath. “I’ll wrap my lips around the tip first, and swallow you down inch by inch ‘til I can’t take any more, I’m gonna work myself up to fitting all of you in my mouth, and when I do I’ll let you do all the work, fuck my throat ‘til I’m sore…”

Steve moans, his cock twitching in Tony’s grip, and damn, if that’s not the hottest thing he’s ever heard. He keeps talking, the sounds Steve makes at the back of his throat going straight to his own groin, and he finally manages to free his erection from the confines of his pants, shuffling a bit to get them to pool around his ankles with his underwear. 

“Wait,” Steve gasps and Tony obeys, his hand on Steve’s length stilling. “I wanna touch you.”

“Ngh, yes please,” is the height of Tony’s eloquence right now and shit, there’re fingers tracing the underside of his cock and _Steve Roger’s hand_ wrapping around it. The angle’s awkward as hell but it’s Steve and Tony’s already five seconds from coming, so it really doesn’t matter. 

“How do you prefer it?” Steve asks, sounding way too coherent for Tony’s liking. He can only nod, gasps “faster,” or “tighter,” and Steve adjusts his grip immediately, swallowing the whimpers Tony is decidedly _not_ making with searing kisses. 

At some point Steve starts thrusting into Tony’s fists, reminding him that, yes, Captain America would also like an orgasm, and it’s a logistic challenge to move his hand when Steve’s mouth is on his neck and his thumb is working Tony’s slit, spreading precome over the glans, but he’s a genius and succeeds, increasing the rhythm until a full-body shudder wrecks Steve’s body and he spills all over Tony’s hand and the floor of the jet. Tony keeps his eyes wide open the entire time, committing the way pleasure transforms Steve’s face to memory. His own orgasm is mostly an afterthought in the face of kiss-red lips and flushed cheeks. 

By the time they have caught their breath, the jet is beginning its descent. 

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Tony echoes, and struggles with his clothes to be presentable for when they land. 

Since Tony refused to tell Steve where they’re going until they touch down near the Getty Center in Los Angeles, he gets to see surprise light up those blue eyes as Steve takes in the architecture of the Center for the first time in his life. 

Tony’s been there before, often enough to be familiar with the layout, but he’s never seen it with Steve at his side, eyes wide and hands twitching. He snaps picture after picture and gets Tony to sit on a bench with the setting sun at his back while Steve sketches him. 

“It’s not finished, I need to add some water colors,” Steve says with an apologetic smile as he hides the result from Tony’s eyes and distracts him with a kiss. 

It’s after hours so the place is deserted, safe for a few guards whom Tony makes sure to tip handsomely around midnight when Steve notices how late it is and that they shouldn’t keep the people any longer. 

Steve thanks him for the tenth time on their way back to the jet, which Tony dismisses, again, ‘cos “the director owed me a favor, it was nothing,” and pulls Steve up into the plane, his thoughts on round two… 

… which is when the call comes in that there’s a sea monster in the Bay Area and hey, you’re on the West Coast anyway, why don’t you help the local SHIELD agents?

As he’s circling the ugly beast trying to take out a ferry near San Francisco, Tony supposes he should be grateful that he at least got his hands on Steve’s dick once.

*

**Thanksgiving, aka Not Really A Date Steve There Are Too Many People Here**

The build-up to Thanksgiving brings plans for an Avengers dinner with the Barton clan as special guests, as well as Tony buying lube and getting tested. 

Of course that fact is what catches Pepper’s attention and so Thanksgiving also comes with that extremely awkward conversation that Tony’s done his best to avoid for a month. You know, that one where you tell your ex-girlfriend and CEO of your multinational company that you’re defiling the paragon of all that is good in the world. Or trying to defile, really, ‘cos the bad guys have it out for him – 

“I’m sure the villains of this world don’t care much about your sex life, Tony,” Pepper interrupts, her tone fond and warm which is baffling, frankly. 

“You not mad?”

“He’s good for you.”

“When he’s not giving me blue balls.”

“He’s been giving you those since you first saw him.”

“… Uh.”

“It’s not as if I wasn’t looking as well.”

“Pepper, you minx.”

She chuckles on the other end of the line, and Tony’s confusion abates a bit. “So, about the Parade…”

Yeah, right, Thanksgiving also brings obligations of the publicity persuasion, another thing Tony managed to ignore until the last minute. 

The board of directors has in fact forced Tony to fly with the parade ever since he came out as Iron Man, insisting that it’s great PR and gives him an excuse to show off. The year after the Battle of New York saw all Avengers participate except their superspies Natasha and Clint for obvious reasons, though Thor’s enthusiasm made up for their absence tenfold. This year, however, Natasha doesn’t have an excuse given that her identity is plastered all over the web, so she’s with them at the crack of dawn as they join the Stark Industry boat. 

While Tony may grumble and complain, it is for the good of the company and remaining in the public’s best graces is imperative if he wants to keep financing the Initiative and what’s left of SHIELD afloat financially. All right, yeah, landing in front of a group of awed kids and making them smile is pretty neat too. 

And if Tony has a full-blown panic attack after he makes it through the three-hour parade, which is the longest he’s been among this many people since Sokovia… well, no one needs to know. 

He gets himself under control for the team’s appearance at Central Park, where Stark Industries is hosting a Thanksgiving lunch giveaway for those unable to afford a turkey on their own, because Pepper can smooth-talk with the best of them so of course she convinced Steve to have the Avengers help out, officially distributing packages for an hour and half when in reality they’re there to keep the children happy. 

Wanda proves the biggest hit by far, creating colorful clouds of energy that waft around children and mimic bunnies or ponies or birds, similar to those patronus thingies Tony recalls from those wizard movies. Vision and Rhodey let those brave enough fly a few feet, mere inches above the ground with wary parents watching like hawks while Sam flaps his wings to the cooing of several single mothers nearby (and two or three single fathers). 

Tony only has eyes for Steve, though, who seems unfazed no matter how many kids climb all over him or get sticky fingerprints all over his shield. Tony hands out balloons in the armor and generally keeps his distance as much as possible, skin crawling and feeling queasy and shaken. 

They return with two hours to spare before the team dinner. Clint and his sister-in-law took over turkey roasting duty while the woman’s husband kept an eye on the four kids running around the tower. 

Tony escapes down to the workshop, drowning himself in grease and engine fumes, gripping the tools so tight his knuckles are soon gonna turn perpetually white, shutting everything out except the work in front of him until the weight on his chest lessens and his lungs fill with air again. 

“Tony.”

He pushes himself out from underneath the engine (an upgrade for the Spyder who’s still only running on standard issue 10V motor; a shame, really) and looks up to where Steve is furrowing a worried brow at him. 

“Is it dinner time already?”

“Yes,” Steve says slowly. “Do you want to talk –”

“Nope,” Tony says immediately, popping the ‘p’ and sliding back underneath the engine. “Gimme five more minutes and a shower and I’ll be right there.” 

When he resurfaces ten minutes later, Steve – to Tony’s surprise – is still there. He’s smiling fondly at him, raking his eyes over the ratty old t-shirt and pair of sweatpants that are more grease and holes than cotton or polyester or whatever as if the sight is something enticing. 

“Thought you’d be upstairs already.”

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for hours now,” Steve tells him matter-of-factly, as one does apparently, simply throwing that out there and derailing Tony’s mind completely. 

“Oh?” he breathes, his heart fluttering in his chest as Steve crosses the gap between them and reaches out a hand. “Careful, you’ll get dirty, too.”

“I think I’m plenty dirty already,” is the reply, a rumble deep in Steve’s chest and Tony laughs into the kiss. 

“Oh babe, you haven’t seen nothing yet.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “That a promise? Or a threat?”

“Both.”

*

Naturally, said promise-cum-threat has to wait for its fulfillment, ‘cos _of course_ Barton has to chose Thanksgiving to announce some big news. 

He actually talks to Tony first, catching him alone as he’s returning from the bathroom during the loud and slightly overwhelming dinner. Clint’s eyebrows are pinched and eyes dulled by grief. 

“Hey Clint.”

“Tony.” 

“How’s the hearing aid?” 

Needless to say, when Clint’s ears took a turn for the worse, Tony made sure to get him the best tech out there. After improving it, obviously. 

“I’m getting used to it.”

Clint hesitates after that and Tony gives the archer a moment, waiting for whatever it is he obviously wants to say. 

“I’d like to take you up on your offer. If that’s still on the cards.”

“Offer?” Then it clicks. “Ah, yeah, sure. I’ll talk to Human Resources tomorrow and call the principal. Those guys are really helpful when you’re offering to upgrade their CompSci classrooms.”

“Good.”

“You gonna tell the team?”

A slow nod. “Just wanted to make sure it’ll work out with you first.”

Tony clutches his chest in mock-outrage. “Whatever gave you reason to doubt me?”

Clint shoves him playfully and returns to the living room. 

The kids are already in bed and Karen and her husband followed suit, so it’s just the Avengers scattered around the living room. It’s a bittersweet picture, for one because the old team used to lounge about in a similar fashion and that reminds Tony of the Bruce-shaped hole in the labs and at the breakfast table every morning, and for another because the atmosphere is better than Tony ever remembers, at least with him in the picture. 

Natasha, through the honored female tradition of getting a haircut and giving it time, seems to have moved on and in the same breath accepted that Tony did what she herself would have wanted if she had decided to fall off the grid. She never says anything explicitly, mind you, but she hands Tony a beer without glaring daggers at him, so it’s implied, okay?

Anyway, Clint. Announcement. And said announcement’s cockblocking effect. 

“I’d like to come back full-time. If you’ll still have me.”

There’s a lot of questions and “You sure?”s with Clint recounting how Tony offered to move Laura’s sister and her husband plus kids to New York and get the man (whose name Tony should really look up at some point before tomorrow) a job at Stark Industries. The kids could go to that private school with top security where all the dignitaries and ambassadors and rich folk send their kidnapping-prone offspring to learn and be safe, and as for little Nathan Pietro Barton, Tony will find somewhere in one of his properties that has a doorman and a security guard. If Barton’s still not happy he’ll hire a damn bodyguard. Money’s not an issue here, after all. 

So apparently Clint suggested that to his kids and Karen and her husband, and Lilo and Cooper (or was it Lila?) were on board with the plan. They needed to find a new school anyway, what with their old one getting blown up, and after years of their father dashing off to be a hero, they seem to have grown used to it. Or maybe they also see just how badly Clint wants to get back at Hydra and AIM for taking his wife away from him and that’s why they agreed. Tony’s not really sure how children’s minds work. 

“They gave me their blessing, and even asked Karen all on their own to make sure they would have a place to stay. ‘Daddy fights the bad guys’, after all.”

Clint is so proud of his kids that it almost hurts to look, and for a second – just one, really – Tony entertains the fantasy of seeing the same expression on Howard. 

Therein lies madness, however, which is why Tony never follows such whims for longer than it takes him to reach the nearest bottle of whisky. Steve is busy talking with Nat about adjusting the training schedule to integrate Clint and his altered auditory situation, so his boyfriend (partner?) can’t say anything and Rhodey learnt years ago that the most important way to stay Tony’s best friend is to never get between him and his liquor. 

Three glasses later and clutching a fourth he settles into Steve’s side, relishing the arm wrapping itself around his shoulders after only a second’s worth of hesitation. 

Clint blinks, stopping mid-sentence. 

“Wow.”

“We’re not talking about it,” Nat supplies and Tony can feel laughter bubble up in Steve’s chest. 

“Why?”

“Because they want to keep the pressure off,” Sam and Rhodey reply in unison and now it’s Tony’s turn to laugh and raise his glass. 

The movement catches Steve’s eye and his gaze turns pensive for a moment. Tony can feel his hackles rise and he steals himself for any sort of remark coming his way, but Steve just picks up his beer, clinks it against Tony’s glass, and kisses the crown of his head once he took a sip. 

Tony wakes up on the sofa at five in the morning with a blanket draped across his shoulders, still smelling faintly of Steve’s cologne. 

*

Yeah, so Thanksgiving did nothing for Mission ‘Sex Up Steve’. 

Don’t get him wrong – Tony enjoys this entire ‘taking things slow’ thing. His relationship with Steve is unlike any he’s ever had, and just spending an hour on the couch kissing another person without it leading immediately to sex is fifteen shades of amazing. 

But there’s still a voice at the back of Tony’s head nagging him to get a move on before Steve realizes that being with Tony is actually more hardship than fun in the long run. 

Unfortunately, dates #6 through #9 are all pretty much over before they started, either because of animated giant snowmen that attempt to smash Florida, a case of irresponsible teenagers who stumble over an alien artifact in Wisconsin, a summons in front of the United Nations that whisks first Steve, then Tony away (since it would be ridiculous to have their hearings coincide, really, now that the UN is finally getting their heads out of their collective asses and thinking about granting SHIELD full rights again; currently they’ve just stopped actively hunting down its agents and labeling the organization a terrorist threat). 

Oh, and then there’s a snowstorm that traps Steve in public transport for three hours after which the news is full of starry-eyed passengers who go on at length about how Steve lent them his jacket, his sweater, his scarf, his gloves and his knitted hat. 

One of them is a young, transgender man who worked up the guts to actually ask Steve out. “And he smiled real apologetically and said he’s spoken for. Now I don’t know if that’s true but he sounded sincere and didn’t ignore me afterwards, even agreed to take a picture with me, so I’m not even disappointed!”

Tony can’t stop grinning for two days after that, and not even Trish and Quasar from their PR team can put a damper on his mood when they talk to them about how to handle that situation. 

“Why do people care?” Steve groans that night once he’s stopped shivering ‘cos even superhumans get cold when spending two hours outside in nothing but a long-sleeve tee. “I mean, why do they want to know who I’m courting?”

Tony has to bite his tongue to silence the very embarrassing sound he wants to make at Steve using the word ‘courting’ while referring to him and rubs his shoulders. 

“That’s how some people get their kicks. They live vicariously through us.”

“You’re not mad, though, are you?” Steve looks genuinely worried so Tony quickly waves his concerns away. 

“I’m fine with keeping this to us for as long as we can. They’ll never leave us alone after it gets out.” 

“It’s not that I’m –”

“I know. But trust a man who’s been in the spotlight his entire life – if you can keep it on the down low, better go for it.”

Besides, if the paps never know they dated, they won’t get to gloat once their relationship crashes and burns and declaring they’ve always seen it coming because Tony Stark can’t keep anyone around for an extended period of time. 

He doesn’t say that, though. 

December also brings fundraisers and galas, some of which Tony _has_ to attend and “no, a new necklace won’t make me give you an out, Tony!” Or so Pepper says. 

The Avengers’ PR team also insists on a bunch of stuff to maintain their public image. Add to that Clint’s integration, some resulting drama ‘cos “I’m not made out of glass, guys! Stop fucking babying me!”, and the ensuing higher practice frequency that Tony attends as often as possible… oh, and Sam deciding that they’re doing Secret Santa when he learns that Wanda never had an actual Christmas and the herd of neon-pink cats that descends on Texas, and then Tony getting an idea, successfully forgetting the world around him for seventy-two hours until Steve turns up in the workshop and wordlessly feeds him and practically carries him to bed… yeah, add all that up and you get to Christmas Day and Steve and Tony still aren’t past hand jobs, glorious hand jobs though they are. 

Said galas do, however, entail Steve in a tux that appears to have been painted on, so there’s that. At least Tony’s mental wank bank’s happy. 

Christmas itself is… weird, yeah, let’s call it weird. At least for Tony, who’s never really got the chance to enjoy it. One day he appears in the communal area because J.J. passed on the Avengers Assemble alarm only to find a crooked, sad-looking tree taking up a third of the space, shedding needles everywhere.

“What the hell is that?” 

“That, my man,” Sam says as he enters from the kitchen, “is our Christmas tree.”

“What’s it doing in here?”

“Where else would you put it? On the balcony? Damn, dude, it’s not gonna bite. The others are getting the ornaments.”

_Huh._

Tony is content to watch Rhodey, Sam and Clint laugh their asses off at the cheap miniature Avengers they bought while getting decorations, so he does that until Steve holds up the both the Captain America and the Iron Man figure (they got the armor all wrong, that thing would never stay in the air, really, who designs these things?!) and presses the mini-Steve into Tony’s palm. 

“Come on.”

And that’s how Tony hangs up his first ever tree ornament. That’s what happens when your parents always pay people to put up trees, which are then off limits lest the kid screw up the perfect arrangement or, god forbid, set the tree on fire (which happened once, so okay, some worry might have been justified). 

Vision observes them with an expression that reminds Tony of Thor while Wanda is sort of channeling her energy into the tree, whose needles take on a more vibrant color after that. 

Tony stays at the facility that night and he’s been counting the days ever since he decided on that. By ten o’clock his knee is bouncing so hard that Rhodey throws popcorn at him with a knowing smirk, so he concentrates on the schematics on the tablet while Steve is watching the daft holiday-appropriate movie Pigeon selected (“It’s his turn, Tony, just join the roster and you get to pick, too.”). 

All this, long story short, means that by the time the movie is over and Steve and Tony head to bed, he’s more than ready to get Steve undressed and show him a good time. 

Thirty minutes later, after extensive kissing and groping, Tony has Steve exactly where he wants him – namely on the sheets beneath him, shirtless, and maybe there is a God after all because those abs are like a sign from above, he’s not kidding. He’s just running his tongue all over them ‘cos they need to be worshipped appropriately, and Tony’s tongue on his skin makes Steve writhe in the most beautiful – 

“Mr. Stark, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“J.J., I swear I’ll donate you to MIT if this isn’t a life-or-death situation!” Tony shouts, one hand so close to Steve’s fly, _damn it to hell_. 

“There appears to be an actual life-or-death situation in Canada, sir.”

“I thought the Canadians are genetically incapable of violence,” he grumbles but follows Steve off the bed and looks for his functional wear to put on. 

“We seem to have located one of the missing growth rays documented in AIM’s files, sir.”

It’s Steve’s turn to groan. “What did they hit this time?”

“A moose, Captain Rogers.”

That particular mental image is enough to leave Tony giggling all the way to the quinjet. 

*

After a successful transfer to NYC, Clint’s entire family comes over for the holidays which proves to be a stupid idea ‘cos it means Tony is on the receiving end of several hugs when he hands over his present. 

He drew Clint during Secret Santa and wrecked his brain for three days to come up with something that isn’t resurrecting the dead (since not even he has figured out how to do that yet) or a new bow (Clint already gets updates every few months). 

He settled on a small jet-helicopter-hybrid that’s going to be all Clint’s, equipped with pre-printed flight manifests and blank permission slips so he can just drop by and visit his kids on a whim in fifteen minutes flat. 

Tony’s Secret Santa turns out to be Vision, which is hilarious and also incredibly awesome since his present for Tony is a metal cube. Not just any cube, but a sort of riddle that, according to Vision, holds something that will be of great use to Tony if only he can reach the core. (Which totally turns into a long term project. _Damn_ , Vision is good.)

Despite the Secret Santa thing Tony decided to get Steve something extra. It’s a boyfriend’s prerogative, right? 

Or, well, he wanted to get Steve something only he ended up spending the next week contemplating what exactly he could get the guy that’s both brilliant but not overly expensive. There might have been spreadsheets involved at some point in the process. 

In the end he settles on a bunch of high-end art supplies that the stingy old man would never buy for himself, a simple silver wristband with leather worked into it which made Tony think of Steve as soon as he saw it (online, he’s still scarred from the Thanksgiving Day Parade, thank you very much), and… yeah. 

“What do you mean, you got me a scholarship?” 

“Exactly that?”

“You mean someone is going to get to go to art school because of this?”

“Yup, and you get to co-select the winner with the school’s own board or jury or whatever.”

Steve gapes at him for a moment, then surges forward and kisses him full on the lips in front of the entire team to a chorus of “Aww”s and “Get a room”s. Tony is blushing furiously, glaring at everyone who’s watching them fondly (which actually is _everyone_ ). 

When Steve hands over his present, he’s apologetic, insisting it won’t compare, though Tony shushes him and pulls back the wrapping paper that neatly enveloped the rectangular object. 

Steve made him two paintings and they are breathtaking. 

One features all Avengers, including the Hulk and Quicksilver, a collage of all of them outside on the training grounds, and it’s so vibrant and full of life that just looking at it makes something warm spread in Tony’s chest. The other one is of himself in the workshop, surrounded by blown-up blueprints as he’s attacking the engine he’s been improving. DUM-E is whirling around in a corner and it looks so real that it has a really comforting effect. 

They retreat to Steve’s quarters (which are closer) and Steve actually offers Tony a drink instead of just pushing him up against the door because he is a gentleman and has apparently made it his mission to make Tony’s skin grow hot and his chest tighten at the treatment. 

He’s contemplating the best way to tackle the clothing situation (as in, there’s too much of it covering their skin) when Steve makes a pained noise at where he was about to pour drinks at the kitchen counter. 

Tony is at his side in a heartbeat, staring down at the postcard in Steve’s hands. They are starting to tremble minutely. 

The image on the card shows the Louvre from outside, the glass pyramid prominent in the foreground. It’s not even a particularly pretty picture, truth be told, but not so bad as to warrant – wait, are those tears in the corners of Steve’s eyes?

Since Tony has the emotional range of a goldfish he’s at a loss about what to do, so he hovers, watching as Steve turns the card around as if it were made of spun sugar, prone to break at the slightest jolt. 

The back reveals a messy scrawl, directing it to _Steve Grant Rogers_. There’s no name below the short message, just a couple of sentences in the same chaotic handwriting. 

_I almost travelled there but we said we’d do that together on our next leave. The museum will keep until I’m back._

At the bottom of the card a string of random numbers catch Tony’s eye, their meaning hidden in obscurity. 

“Steve?”

“It’s from Bucky.”

Hm. “Why would he write now? It’s been…”

“Yeah.” Steve doesn’t say anything else for a long minute. “The numbers. He wrote because there’s something he needs to tell me.”

“In code?”

“We made it up when we were kids.”

That thought brings a soft smile to Tony’s face. Wee Steve and wee James Barnes, designing secret languages… “What’s it mean? Or wait – do you want me to go?”

Steve immediately shakes his head. “I think we might need a computer.”

“Well, I might know a guy who can supply one,” Tony teases and while that fails to have Steve crack a smile, the lines of his shoulders relax a bit. 

They end up on the edge of the mattress with a StarkBook cradled on Tony’s knees as Steve dictates the translation of the code – a string of letters that lead them to a password protected server. 

“Gimme something. I’m guessing at least twenty characters,” Tony ventures, then types two potential passwords until Steve barks out a laugh. “What?”

“Try ‘Steve is a Star Spangled Man’.”

With a raised eyebrow, Tony does and wonders of wonders, it actually works and they’re inside. Several folders appear and Tony clicks through them immediately, Steve looking over his shoulder at the screen. 

“That son of a gun.”

“You can say that again,” Tony agrees. 

Files. Several terabytes of files, from both Hydra and AIM. They go through them for half an hour more and they barely made a dent in them, so Tony calls Vision and sets him and J.J. on the task of sifting through the data. 

Once Steve has been dissuaded from staying up all night to help (“They’re AIs, Steve, they don’t need to sleep but you do”) and is actually back in Tony’s bedroom, the man is too shaken for Tony to even think about anything other than wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders. It’s the first time he is touching him since Steve saw the postcard. 

Tony has never actually comforted anyone except Rhodey when his girlfriend broke up with him during their final year at MIT, or Pepper when her mother died. It should be awkward and it is, but it’s also nice, the way Steve fists his hands in Tony’s shirt and buries his face in Tony’s chest, letting himself be held. 

He thinks, only to himself, that maybe… just maybe, this might be better than sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If so, please don’t hesitate to let me know?  
> (Seriously, my Muse and I live off air, kudos, and comments, they’re an enormous motivator! Well, maybe not ‘air’, but… you catch my drift^^)
> 
> Next up: "Trouble(d) Trio"
> 
> Some dates, including the trip to the [Brooklyn Museum](http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/visit/first_saturdays.php), inspired by [this article](https://www.thrillist.com/entertainment/new-york/best-date-ideas-nyc).  
> If you don’t know who Taylor Wilson is, check out [his TED talk](https://www.ted.com/talks/taylor_wilson_my_radical_plan_for_small_nuclear_fission_reactors/transcript?language=en#t-597738). He’s a nuclear physics prodigy, and I am so in awe…
> 
> PS: I apologise for my fixation on Tony’s car. He and I both love the R8 and opposed to me he can actually afford that work of beauty.


	2. Trouble(d) Trio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS, you are absolutely AMAZING! Thank you all for the warm welcome you extended :) *cheers* 
> 
> **Warning** for very brief, very vague discussion of suicidal tendencies/attempts, in case any of you have difficulties with that. Also warnings for Tony-related body image issues. 
> 
> Fyi, I spent an embarrassingly amount of time on google maps for this chapter. My geography teachers would die of shame if they knew...

_**November 18th, 2015 – Chad, Africa, somewhere near Lac Tchad**_

Bruce can but stare at the scissors Bucky is presenting him with. 

“You want me to cut your hair?” Bruce repeats, dumbfounded. They only progressed to a first name basis two weeks ago when a well-aimed shot damaged Bucky’s arm and Bruce had to give himself a crash course in the technology of bionic prosthetics. And now the man is willing to let Bruce near him with a pair of sharp instruments? 

“It’s getting too long. And it’s… I had it shorter, before.”

“Okay, but I just want to stress that I am in no way versed in hairstyles. So no complaining when it looks bad later, all right?”

Bucky shrugs and pulls up a chair. The house they are staying at is quite nice. The owners – a young family with three kids if the pictures on the sideboards are anything to go by – seem rather well off. Too bad not even the best security system is a match for the Winter Soldier and Quicksilver. 

“So, uh,” Bruce ventures, stepping closer to the stiff line of Bucky’s back. “How do you want it?”

“Shorter. Not too short, though.”

Bruce translates that to ‘longer than before Hydra’ and tentatively goes to work. 

When Pietro returns with a by now familiar whooshing sound he flies past where Bucky is inspecting himself in the mirror Bruce found in the dresser upstairs, then slitters to a halt immediately. 

“Okay, I did not see that coming.”

“Shut it, punk.”

“No, looks good,” Pietro says. “Honestly.” He nods at them and proceeds to the kitchen. 

“What did you get?” Bruce calls after him. 

“All the greens you asked for, don’t get your stretch-pants in a twist.”

“Most of the stuff on the list wasn’t green,” Bruce points out even though he knows teaching Pietro about food is a lost cause. As long as it’s edible the kid will consume three helpings. Bruce is just glad that Steve isn’t here and that he hasn’t had to Hulk out since the base in Azerbaijan, or else getting enough to feed them all would definitely pose a problem. Stupid superhuman metabolisms. 

“Should I look into a career change and become a barber now?” Bruce asks, turning back to where the corners of Bucky’s mouth are actually curling upwards. 

“Nah, I’d stick to smashing things and cooking. But it’s not too bad.”

Bruce chose to cut the hair above Bucky’s ears short while leaving the bangs longer. Thus is doesn’t look too much like what Bruce remembers about Barnes from the history books. For an amateur wielding the scissors it actually looks somewhat decent.

“You’ll have to fend the dames off with a stick,” Pietro quips from where he appeared in the doorway. 

“Well, I’m irresistible,” Bucky shoots back, smirk firmly in place. 

Bruce shakes his head and makes to clean up the hair on the floor. If everything goes according to plan no one is ever going to know they were squatting. They even keep the lights off at night to avoid raising suspicions. Thankfully the family is not wealthy enough to afford a house sitter. 

“I’ll go check on the informant,” Pietro says, not even waiting for confirmation before disappearing again. Bucky saunters to where they are storing their weapons and does his second gear check of the day (there are four, even when they are laying low), which leaves Bruce to sort out the groceries and start dinner. 

In quiet moments like this, when they are neither running from nor running towards trouble, Bruce marvels at how easily the three of them have fallen into a pattern. He relishes the dynamic that is blossoming between the three of them. In battle, they are unstoppable – brute force, impeccable skill, and lightning speed make for a deadly combination. Outside they complement each other: Pietro has long mastered the art of stealing from those who can afford to part with some of what they have, Bruce manages to turn anything they find into something edible and Bucky ensures no one ever catches them. 

His favorite moments, however, are when they are all relaxed, even Bucky, which requires a particularly safe shelter and maybe some beer or schnaps. Then Bucky tells them stories about pre-Serum Steve standing up to bullies in 1930s Brooklyn, which Bruce answers with funny anecdotes about post-Serum Steve saving people or finding his way around the 21st century and – on one memorable occasion in 2014, literally rescuing a kitten from a tree. There are pictures. 

Pietro matches these with tales of how his sister and he used to make a nuisance of themselves in various Hydra bases, and he succeeds in masking the longing in his expression, at least for a while. 

“Business as usual at the base. I see no reason to wait,” Pietro reports when he materializes in the house again. 

“Good, ‘cause we’re not going to,” Bucky decides. “We’ll do it tonight.”

Anticipation licks at Bruce’s stomach. He isn’t part of the plan, actually, unless Bucky calls a Code Green in case they run into unexpected trouble that might benefit from the Other Guy’s involvement. He has a strange feeling about this particular base, though, so he doesn’t get overly comfortable in his own skin tonight. 

*

Bruce’s inkling turns out to be correct. When Pietro enters the base after Bucky, his mask firmly in place and eyelids darkened by coal, the present agents activate a force field, actually trapping the Enhanced between the poles. 

They even attempt the same thing with the Hulk, Bucky later tells him, though whatever theoretical calculations they had done, they failed rather epically in practice. 

“Let’s see what we got here.” Bucky eases down into an as of yet undamaged office chair in front of one of the computers in the control room and hacks the network. Bucky curses five minutes later, during which the burns on Pietro’s skin have healed in front of Bruce’s eyes and he had to shove his hands into his pockets and bite his tongue to keep from begging the kid for blood samples and a microscope. 

Bruce’s gaze snaps towards him. “What? What is it?”

“They were expecting us.”

“What?!”

“They’ve caught on that someone’s taking out the bases. Maybe they pieced together who’s part of the raiding party, maybe they had witnesses…” Bucky’s metal hand tightens around the computer mouse, crushing it between his fingers. “Guess we can expect that welcoming committee everywhere now. They’ve been told to prepare, sent a memo to every single fucking base.”

“We’ll adapt,” Bruce says immediately. “Send me in first, let me take out the technology.”

“And what if they find a way to make it work on you?”

Bruce shakes his head. “Never going to happen.”

“Even the Big Guy’s got to have weaknesses,” Pietro chimes in, his expression dubious. 

“He’s broken out of everything anyone’s ever locked him in.”

“What if you get shot in human form?”

“He’ll spit it out.”

“Explosions?”

“Don’t hurt him.”

Pietro lets out a low whistle, then shrugs. “I’m not worried, then.”

Barnes’ look is still fixed on Bruce, though, distant and calculating. Whatever it is that is on his mind, he does not voice it. They clear out the base, a practiced dance after four operations together, and “blow this joint”, as Bucky has said at every single location before letting the base implode. 

The catch phrase is growing on Bruce. Like a fungus. 

Two hours later, on the way to their next target near Abuja, Nigeria, they find shelter in factory that has been shut down for the night and settle in. Bucky always takes first watch before Pietro relieves him after four hours of sleep, which is all the kid needs, as it turns out. They let Bruce sleep unless there is a situation and they need to move, mostly because Hulking out takes a big toll on him and sleep is the only way for him to really recharge. 

Pietro is already out like a light, tucked in a corner and looking incredibly young in the flickers of the lamps outside the building that fall through the windows near the ceiling. 

“It was weird,” Bucky says out of nowhere. Bruce quirks an eyebrow at him. “What you said. That the Other Guy will spit out bullets.”

“Oh?”

The glare Barnes sends him, however, is telling him loud and clear to drop the naïve act. Bruce swallows thickly. 

He lets the silence stretch which seems to answer Bucky’s implicit question. Instead of pity or indifference, however, what Bruce sees in the soldier’s eyes is understanding.

“You -?” he begins, unsure of how he intends to finish the question. 

“I considered.”

Bruce doesn’t enquire further. He can imagine too well how a permanent escape from crushing guilt, regret and pain might seem enticing. 

*

The three of them pan southward, making their way through the Central African Republic, Congo, and Zambia where a supposedly quick raid goes awry, leaving Bucky’s arm severely damaged and Pietro injured. It costs them two weeks until Bruce has figured out how to repair the prosthetic (by then he has an entire list of possible improvements to hand to Tony should they ever meet again). Even Pietro needs two days until the gash in his thigh stops bothering him. 

Bucky slips into one of his quiet phases during the down time, where memories seem to consume him and hollow him out. Pietro and Bruce give him space – they tried different approaches in the past, to no avail. So they make sure Bucky knows they’re there, that he’s not alone, and eventually Bucky’s eyes loose some of the shadows. 

Once everyone is all healed up and fully functional again, they go on to Zimbabwe because they found communications that suggested a larger headquarters there. 

“About one hundred operatives,” Pietro reports after an initial stakeout. “But a lot of them don’t look too happy to be there.”

Bruce’s stomach turns at that. They do not kill unwilling participants, just faithful Hydra members. He meets Bucky’s eyes across the table where Barnes is cleaning his guns and Bruce is sharpening his combat knife. 

“We’ll work it out,” Bucky decides, and Bruce is grateful that he doesn’t have to fight the soldier on this. 

*

In the end, the task is not all too difficult: Pietro storms the base first, equipped with a high-frequency emitter Bruce built out of scraps they salvaged on their way down which disrupts the force field (and Bruce was even eighty percent sure it would work before they set out today, Tony would be proud). Pietro knocks out as many people as he can before calling in Bucky, who kills the guards and then only fights to disable. 

Bruce trails after them in human form, stepping into the space between his friends in front of the eighty or so people who remain, bound but not gagged. 

“Your loyalty to Hydra was the wrong choice to make,” Bruce says, loud and clear for everyone to understand. It is Pietro’s job to take note of who protests and claims innocence. 

They have neither the time nor the resources to verify who has been coerced into helping, only their instincts. They release forty people and twenty more beg for their lives, swearing to leave Hydra for good. 

The fact that Bucky looks to Bruce for a decision is a surprising turn of events he has to admit, warmth blossoming in his chest. He never pegged himself as their trio’s leader, and maybe he isn’t, not exclusively. Perhaps Bucky thinks his physician side to be more equipped to make the call than a brainwashed and perpetually refrozen soldier. 

“If you go back on your promise,” Bruce finally tells the twenty who begged, “we will find out and you won’t be so lucky then.” He can feel his eyes flash green for the briefest moment and every operative present apparently knows this means he is the Hulk. Three more denounce Hydra, shaking like leaves with fear. 

“Cut off one head, two more take its place!” a tall, dark wall of a man bellows and the other sixteen scream, with utter conviction, “Hail Hydra!”

Bruce looks to Bucky, then to Pietro. The latter leaves the room. The former fires. Bruce tells himself a quick shot to the head is more humane than letting them die in the fire of the explosion they are going to set up. 

Once the echoes of the shots die down, Pietro returns with a small, plump woman in tow. “Found this one loitering in the hallway.”

“Why did you stay behind?” Bruce asks and watches as she takes a deep breath and straightens her back. 

“I was in charge of files. I’m good with computers and encryption. Hydra offered me a job but they gave me prison. I want to help you, for setting me free.”

“You mean you can get us sensitive information?”

She nods. “There are a lot of projects Hydra started in cooperation with Advanced Idea Mechanics. I don’t know how far they have progressed, but I filed the initial paperwork.”

“Show us.”

The woman, who introduces herself as Chipiwa, makes good on her word and shows them what she was referring to – a sister project to Failsafe which ensured Pietro’s survival. 

“I know him.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to Bucky who is squinting at the picture visible on the screen in front of Chipiwa. 

“Brock Rumlow,” Chipiwa reads out the name in the file. “Codename Crossbones. Enhanced for super strength.”

“But he’s in prison!” Bruce protests as the name registers, frowning as Chipiwa scrolls down. 

“The prison’s medical facility is mostly Hydra. According to this, they were supposed to continue the enhancements they failed to complete before Hydra was exposed.”

“They need to see this!” Pietro practically shouts. “The Avengers need to know!”

“We can’t just dump it on google drive and forward them the link,” Bruce cautions, Tony’s endless sermons on secure connections and weak firewalls ringing in his mind. 

“We need to do something!”

“I might be able to help,” Chipiwa interrupts. “I can upload them to a Hydra server, encrypt them so that only the right password will unlock it, and you can, covertly of course, send word to the Avengers.”

Bruce seeks Bucky’s gaze this time and finds the same decision mirrored back at himself. 

“Do it,” he says, and watches as the woman goes to work. 

*

Bruce and Bucky have been debating back and forth on how they are supposed to get the server’s web address to Steve. It holds all other files they have accumulated over the past few raids and Bucky has already translated the address into the code he and Steve made up when they were kids, but they can’t settle on the best way to get it to New York. 

“Just fucking send a postcard or whatever!” Pietro finally bursts and it takes Bruce a total of three seconds to realize they considered everything from email to encrypted flash drives… except a post card. 

“It’s Christmas soon,” he volunteers slowly. “Maybe…?”

“We can’t buy one here,” is all Bucky comments after a beat. 

Pietro’s solution is to “steal one from some tourists”, which is exactly what he does when they reach Johannesburg in South Africa a day later. Bucky surprises them all by selecting one of the Louvre in France. Granted, it is far from their current position, but really, the Louvre? 

Bruce’s expression must have betrayed his confusion, for Bucky tells them about how young Steve used to dream of seeing all the paintings in the gallery, including the Mona Lisa, and how Bucky and he decided during the war to visit the thing once the fighting was over. 

It’s a bittersweet story and Bruce’s throat is thick when Bucky dons a disguise and posts the card, paying a horrendous sum to have it delivered by the 25th.

*

_**January 2nd, 2016 – Ghana, West Africa** _

Bucky’s rifle hits the ground with a loud clonk, the sound permeating the entire glaringly empty base. Bruce lets him rage and kick a nearby chair – there is nothing much else left other than furniture to direct his misgivings at. Even the coffee is gone from the kitchen. 

“They damn well know we’re coming!” the soldier roars, making Pietro twitch barely noticeably. “Three’s a pattern, damn it!”

“I guess I finally managed to scare them, huh?” Bruce cuts in before Bucky can shout any more, mostly because the raised voice seems to make their younger companion decidedly uncomfortable. 

“Ha-fucking-ha, Banner. What the fuck’re we supposed now? Every sodding base I remember’s gonna be cleared out now!”

It is the beginning of January and the past two bases have also been deserted, nothing but ghosts filling the halls with no operatives or any scraps of intel in sight. 

Bruce huffs, his chest tightening all of a sudden. Maybe it is finally time. 

He can see the same thought pass through Pietro’s and Bucky’s mind as they burn the building to the ground anyway, feels the idea haunt their restless nights until two days later Pietro whispers, his accent thick, “Maybe… Maybe it is time to return to America.”

Bucky nods ever so slowly, turning a pensive gaze on Bruce. “You ready to return to your team yet?”

All Bruce can manage is a forced, “Not sure if I won’t be arrested on sight,” because he genuinely could not say. The past few weeks have proven how much he missed the companionship of having a team, too spoilt by years with Tony and the others as a constant presence in his life. But to return only to be put in jail? That is decidedly _not_ on the table. 

“They pardoned you.”

Bruce’s head snaps up to gape at Bucky. 

“I read about it while researching you. Steve, he… I think he made sure in case you wanted to come back.”

The statement hangs in the air between them, the large question mark heavy enough to weigh down all their shoulders. 

It is Bucky who breaks the silence. 

“We’ve done all we could. I… I feel ready to go back. Or as ready as I ever could.”

Pietro breaks into a huge grin and he whooshes around them three times, his enthusiasm infectious enough that Bruce can feel his lips form a smile as well. 

“Let’s go to Sierra Leone then,” he suggests, elaborating when all he receives in return is a set of narrowed eyes. “A local, uh, _miner_ there owes me a favor. I saved his son’s life a few years ago. He’ll be able to hook us up with a jet or at least someone who can get us the means to return to America without any hassle.”

“A _miner_? In Sierra Leone?” Pietro repeats, then whistles, obviously impressed. “Still waters, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce can but shrug helplessly. “There was a drive by. I was a few meters away and able to help. The father was high in the RUF. He offered me diamonds but I declined, so he told me to come back if I knew how he could thank me.”

“You think that’s enough to get us stateside?”

“He offered a _whole lot_ of diamonds.”

They chuckle, the mood lifting, and pick up their gear and bags. 

*

_**January 6th, Sierra Leone** _

They come at Sierra Leone from the southeast, aiming for the Kambui Hills near Kenema where Bruce remembers the mine to be located. They keep hidden from the villages and cities in their path and trade a few knives from one of their raids against information with a local farmer once close to their goal. 

The farmer’s eyes widen and he blanches when Bruce tells him the name of the miner with a hurried and probably faulty explanation in Krio because the man does not speak international English. 

“Issa Gbao is a very cruel man. Do not seek him out unless you do not value your lives.”

“We will be able to hold our own,” Bruce promises ominously and coaxes a few more details out of the informant. 

“So,” Pietro says once they are back on their way, “in the time since you last say him, the miner has become one of the greatest illegal diamond traders in the country and his name’s enough to strike the fear of god into peasants?”

Bruce bites his lip. “Apparently.” 

Pietro shrugs. “Just making sure I got all the details right.”

Bucky finds the entire situation a lot more amusing than would probably be considered healthy. 

They agree to let Bruce enter the mining village alone and unarmed (given that he is undoubtedly the most lethal of the three of them, especially when weaponless) in the hopes that he can gain access to a meeting with Gbao. The only thing Bruce does carry is a small radio so he can notify Bucky and Pietro if the favor extends as far as Bruce hopes. 

The guards at the outer gates treat him with suspicion when he approaches with raised arms, greeting them first in Krio, then switching to English and waiting for which they respond to. 

“And why would we let you through to the Commander?” The soldier is tall and imposing, even more so when what Bruce thought to be birthmarks or other flecks turn out to be burn scars covering his face and neck. 

“My name is Bruce Banner – I’m a physician, I saved his son’s life in Kenema. Please tell him my name and see for yourself.”

They confiscate the radio and leave him kneeling with his hands at the back of his head for a good fifteen minutes before his guards receive orders through their own walkie-talkies and lift him roughly off the ground. By now Bruce is breathing through his nose and forcing down the Other Guy who bristles at the harsh treatment. 

He ends up in an office, the barrels of at least four guns aimed at various parts of his body, but face to face with the same man whose eyes were filled with tears as he watched Bruce perform emergency services on a busy street. 

Issa Gbao might not be overly tall yet he is broad, with a thick neck and bulging arms that almost put Steve to shame. He has aged more than the seven years it has actually been and his right cheek is severely scarred. He has golden crowns on at least three of his teeth, which Bruce can only see because Gbao is smiling. 

“The doctor with the steady hands!” he booms. “My second tells me you’re here for my help.”

Said second, the soldier whom Bruce convinced to ask before shooting him on sight, is glaring at Bruce from behind Gbao’s shoulder. 

“Yes. I was glad to hear you have, uh, done so well for yourself.”

“No need for pleasantries, doctor,” Issa cuts in before Bruce can stammer any more. “I remember what you thought of the ways of the RUF. The words of the man with a hand inside one’s son’s stomach tend to stay with a father.”

Bruce swallows, licking his lips. “My apologies. I won’t comment on it further.”

Gbao nods. “Tell me instead about why you’re here.”

Bruce does, explaining as briefly as he can about his companions and their wish to go to New York. 

“I appreciate that you came alone, doctor. Alone and unarmed. You’re in luck. My power has only grown over the last decade, and the debt I owe to you has been on my mind often. I’ll grant your wish and all will be right between us.”

For the first time since stepping into the guards’ line of sight, Bruce’s shoulders relax. After that everything goes smoothly for the most part. Gbao startles when he sees Bucky’s metal arm and his hand is on his holstered gun before Bruce has processed what is happening, yet the miner never draws and Bucky is on his best behavior throughout their brief talk. Pietro is visibly trembling with what it costs him to keep still for so long, but neither of them wanted to reveal the presence of an Enhanced to Gbao’s men. 

“My private machine will take you to Casablanca,” Issa explains near an improvised tarmac where a small plane is waiting. “I have friends there who fly to America often. You need not fear detection with them.” The way Gbao smiles sends a shiver down Bruce’s back. He does not need to know how Gbao smuggles his diamonds to the West. “From New Shoreham you will continue on your own. I shall provide all that you need to make it to New York.”

Which is how Bucky, Pietro and Bruce end up in a small airport near Casablanca, Morocco, enjoying the food Gbao’s friends provided them with and watching CNN on the flat screen television because they would have forgotten these people are blood diamond rich otherwise. 

“What are we going to do in America?” Pietro asks after he pushed the empty bowl away with a satisfied hum. “I don’t think we can just knock on Stark’s front door.”

“They aren’t at the tower,” Bucky says with a shake of his head that severs the dual purpose of clearing a strand of hair from his eyes. “The team is based in a new facility; I have the coordinates –”

But Pietro isn’t listening anymore, his eyes transfixed on something to his right. Bruce follows his gaze and almost drops his glass. 

The Avengers are on CNN. Or rather, Wanda is on CNN, engaged in a fight with someone in prison guard garb. 

“Turn it up!” Bruce tells the waitress and his tone is harsh enough that she complies.

_“- to preliminary reports,” the anchor is saying as the feed cuts back to her, “the fight started when the Avengers stopped a prisoner transport from Hartford High Security Prison and the driver opened fire. SHIELD is on site along with all Avengers as we can see from the footage brought to us by the news helicopter. The reasons behind halting the transport are as of yet unclear.”_

The imaged returns to a changing sequence of footage from the fight. Bruce watches in fascination as Wanda knocks out her opponent with a touch to the temple and her eyes flashing red. Vision is engaged in hand-to-hand combat with three at once though it appears that he is fighting to incapacitate rather than kill. Bruce’s theory seems more and more likely as the footage switches from Avenger to Avenger, from Iron Man and War Machine to Falcon and Hawkeye, the latter perched on the tallest building in the area, his head whipping from side to side. 

Bruce feels a pang of sadness when he recalls the headline from December about Hawkeye’s return to the Avengers, which also confirmed rumors of the death of his wife. 

There is one exception to the team’s strategy, however – Natasha and Steve are both fighting to kill. Their opponent is wearing a mask (and a truly ugly one at that) and the speed of his moments belies his humanoid form. 

“Crossbones,” Bucky growls and that is when Bruce makes the connection between the mask and the image in one of the files Chipiwa showed them. 

Steve and Nat are up against Brock Rumlow, officially an inmate at Hartford High Security Prison. Well, that explains why the Avengers stopped that transport. Bucky’s post card reached Steve and he in turn was able to figure out the message. Bruce’s chest swells with pride for his little team. 

Just then, Natasha takes a hit that sends her flying through the air until she connects with a wall. Bruce’s knuckles crack, the Hulk shifting underneath his skin. _We’re over three and a half thousand miles away, big guy,_ Bruce tells him. _We can’t help Widow today._

Seeing her does not leave him unaffected – there is still a twinge in his chest, a woeful longing for things that can never be, yet it’s not as bad as it used to be in Indonesia. He just hopes Nat has moved on as well. Hopefully the new hairstyle is a sign to that effect.

The three of them continue to watch long enough for the thugs – who would be either Hydra or AIM, then – to abort their mission and begin a retreat. SHIELD agents can be seen capturing a few of the wounded ones, but the rest make their getaway in a small jet after distracting Iron Man and the other airborne fighters with thick orange smoke that looks dangerous. 

CNN cuts back to the camera crew on the ground who have become even more suicidal, given how incredibly close they are to where Steve is still fighting Crossbones on a bridge. Rumlow executes one final sidekick to Steve’s head that propels the man to the ground and then jumps over the railing. Orange smoke fills the area, explaining why the Hydra operative made his exit the way he did. 

“It’s a good thing we’re going back. Steve needs better sparring partners,” Bucky growls and Bruce inwardly agrees.

“Gentlemen?” The waitress’s voice interrupts their musings tentatively. “We are ready to board.”

Bucky and Bruce almost beat Pietro to the plane. 

*

Tony hates debriefings. 

He hates Hydra more, and what he feels for Brock Rumlow, the man responsible for the large shiner near Steve’s right eye, cannot be expressed in a word as simple as hate (yeah, yeah, the bruise is already healing but Tony’s allowed to be a little possessive now, so let him). It's not unlike what he feels for that con who screwed up his New Years Eve plans with Steve, only way more visceral.

But anyway, debriefings. Whoever invented them only wanted to torture heroes post-battle to get them to inflict less property damage next time or something. Hell will just be one big debriefing, Tony’s sure of that – forget fire and brimstone, he’s gonna have to sit through some suit talking at him and asking for detailed reports forever and ever after he dies – 

“Mr. Stark, did you hear what I just said?” Maria Hill asks pointedly and Tony can’t actually stifle his responding sigh. 

“Orange smoke, you got samples, I’m going to take a look after your cronies have completed their analysis ‘cos not even a third-grader can screw _that_ up, doesn’t need my supervision. Can we go now?”

Maria waits a few more seconds – just because she can, seriously, Tony should never have hired her – before she waves them off. They disband quickly, everyone of them craving a shower and clean clothes, but Tony finds Steve’s eyes and they share a look that’s better described as _liquid heat_. 

When the elevator stops at the floor that holds the team’s quarters and everyone gets out, Steve doesn’t, remaining close to Tony despite having the room to move away now. Sam and Nat notice, of course, which earns them a smirk and the twitch of an eyebrow as the doors slide shut. 

Tony decidedly doesn’t crowd the man against the walls of the elevator, for one because he wouldn’t be able to stop and he doubts Steve is a coveted exhibitionist, and for another ‘cos he has plans, big plans, which involve a bed if possible. Tony’s bed, to be exact, which is where Tony drags Steve as soon as the elevator doors slide open again. 

They make it through his front door until Cap snaps, shoving Tony against the by-now familiar patch of wall and kissing him as if his life depended on it. Tony returns it in kind – for a second there during the battle he thought he’d never get to do this again and that’s just _not okay_ , not at all, so he lets his hands roam over the fabric of Steve’s uniform… which is too reinforced for him to feel anything. 

But Steve is pressed up against him thighs to chest and apparently trying very, very hard not to just rub off against him, so Tony has a very, very clear idea of what’s happening underneath the dark blue cloth. 

He sucks Steve’s bottom lip between his own, adding just a bit of teeth and Steve gasps, eyes blinking open. They’re darker than Tony has ever seen them, his cheeks reddening and Tony’s knees decide the next course of action without any input from his brain. Well, the upstairs brain. His dick is fully alert right now. 

“Tony,” Steve rasps, and damn if that sound doesn’t go right to his groin, “I thought we’d try for a bed?”

“You say that like your refractory period isn’t ridiculously short,” Tony says, finally succeeding in opening the belt buckle of Steve’s uniform and making quick work of the buttons. 

“But what about you?” 

Tony glances up and Steve is staring down at him looking genuinely put out so he pauses for a moment, sitting back on his heels. 

“Steve, for the record? I like giving you orgasms. Your cock’s better than any drug I’ve ever tried, and believe me, I’ve tried a whole lot of them in my day, and if I don’t get to suck your dick in the next three seconds I’m gonna combust from lust, so please? Let me?”

Tony can only imagine how he must look, on his knees with big, pleading eyes staring up, his mouth inches away from Steve’s groin. The other man swallows hard, throat working and chest heaving a little, and then Steve fucking bites his lip, jeez, how is this Tony’s life? But he nods, that the important part, so Tony swipes his tongue over his lips and works open the fly and exposes Steve’s erection. 

It lies heavy in his hands, rock hard and beading precome. Tony doesn’t waste any time, just leans in, swirling his tongue around the head and licking at the slit which draws a hiss from Steve. 

He shifts above Tony, bracing himself against the wall with his left hand while his right comes down to Tony’s head. 

“Grip my hair,” Tony tells him, his voice hoarse from arousal. He hums around Steve’s length when the man eventually complies, tugging tentatively and growing bolder the more Tony moans. 

He’s good at this, at sex, always has been. It’s the one place where he has always been confident; maybe because he could see as clear as day whether or not he’s doing well. It’s mostly been about the other person’s orgasm for him, ever since that first rush that came from making someone writhe and get that blissed out expression on their face, all from something Tony did. 

It’s different now, though, ‘cos this is Steve. Steve, who deserves the best of the best, who should be worshiped and appreciated. Steve, who has decided for some reason Tony’s still not fully comprehending that Tony is worth sticking around. 

Which is probably the reason why Tony’s hands are shaking, little tremors only evident to him ‘cos Steve’s eyes are shut and his face is twisted in pleasure, but they _are_ shaking as they dip lower, caressing Steve’s balls and building the pressure from here as Tony pushes himself further. 

The head of Steve’s cock hits the back of his throat, startling Steve enough that his fingers tighten in his hair. Tony positively whimpers ‘cos it hurts so good. He inhales through his nose and then he goes the extra mile, pushing Steve further down his throat until he can swallow around the head. 

“Oh god, Tony!” Steve half-shouts, half-moans, and his knees buckle. By now it’s probably only his superhuman strength that’s keeping him upright, especially seeing as Tony isn’t even thinking of letting up.

He wonders if he might ever get Steve to really fuck his mouth one day.

The thought alone makes Tony’s cock twitch in the confines of his pants and he speeds up his efforts, swallowing three times in quick succession until Steve is a gasping mess with trembling thighs. 

Tony pulls back just in time to catch most of Steve’s come, the bitter fluid hitting his tongue and lips. Tony swallows it greedily, then pushes himself up to his feet. He’s not as graceful as he used to be in his younger years but Steve isn’t really the most attentive guy right now, so it doesn’t matter. 

“Tony, damn…” Steve sounds awed and Tony grows at least five inches at the praise. Then Steve opens his eyes and finds him in his line of sight. He brings a hand up to cup Tony’s jaw almost reverently, thumb rubbing at something at the corner of his mouth. “Should I find it hot that you’re wearing my, uh,” Steve licks his lips, “my come?”

Then he blushes even more and Tony thinks he might die just then and there. 

“You’re allowed to find hot anything you want,” he manages, but it’s hard. Literally. 

“Anything?”

“Well, anything involving me,” Tony blurts, but it makes Steve grin back at him dopily.

“That goes without saying.”

Which has Tony’s heart stutter in his chest ‘cos Steve means it, is so sincere about it that it makes Tony want to say stupid, stupid things that are way too premature, and yeah… He is so doomed. 

“You know what else might be hot?” Tony asks before any of his thoughts show on his face. “You and me, on an actual bed, with actual supplies. That is, if you want. It’s absolutely okay if you’re not ready, I –”

“Yes.” 

“- mean it’s – yes?”

Something shifts in Steve’s expression and his posture changes to go along with it. Tony gulps as Steve fixes him with the most heated look he has ever been on the receiving end of, and walks him backwards into the suite. 

“Yes, Tony. I’m ready.”

“Holy fuck, come on -”

Tony practically trips over his feet in his hurry to get to the bedroom (which isn’t that far away, actually) and turns around when he is standing at the foot of the bed. 

“First of all: clothes; that uniform’s damn sexy but I can’t feel a thing through it, so off, off,” he orders, ‘cos ordering is so much better a word than begging, which is definitely not what he’s doing. He’s two seconds away from that, though. 

Steve seems amused by it, so that’s okay. Even better when the guy actually starts shedding his clothes, first toeing off his boots and shoving off his pants which he then divests of all remaining weapons before folding them and _are you kidding me?_

“Safety procedures are there for a reason, you know.”

Oh, did Tony say that last bit out loud?

“Yes, you did.”

“Oh, sorry, I do that sometimes.”

“It’s cute.”

“What? Cute?! I’m not _cute_ , Rogers, take that back –”

“Complaining about it only makes you cuter.”

A reply is halfway out of Tony’s mouth when he snaps it shut forcibly, crossing his arms and glaring a bit. Steve is smirking, the bastard, but he’s also leaning down to put his uniform pants onto his boots and that gives Tony a really, really good view of his bare ass, which is firm and round and looks delicious and if he didn’t want Steve to fuck him as desperately as he does he would change the plan of attack and rim another orgasm out of Steve… 

Steve, who is pulling off his uniform top and the fifty layers of under armor while Tony’s brain is having quite some difficulty communicating with his body. Which means he ends up watching until Steve has folded the last of his clothes and then is standing in front of him, naked as the day he was born and the most erotic thing Tony has ever seen. 

Steve flushes a little under the scrutiny, but he lets Tony look his fill, tracing the strong, defined lines of Steve’s body, mouth watering and hands twitching. He steps in without consciously deciding to do so, reaching out to run his fingers down Steve’s arm and then his sides. Goosebumps emerge in the wake of his touches and he can see Steve’s cock hardening between his legs. 

“I want to do that, too.” Steve’s voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “If you, I mean. If that’s okay.”

“Sight won’t be as nice.” 

“I doubt that.”

Tony glances up at that. His sudden shyness doesn’t dissipate but it lessens. He nods slowly while rubbing circles into Steve’s ridiculous hamstrings. 

“May I?” Steve is tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. Tony lifts his arms to make pulling it over his head easier and then Steve is folding the fabric, placing it on top of the neat pile that is his own uniform. 

Tony kicks off his shoes in the meantime and then Steve’s hands are back, fingers stroking bare skin underneath the hem of his undershirt. Tony can’t remember the last time anyone has seen him without his shirt on and he tenses but nods when Steve’s gaze turns questioning. 

All the slight anxiety is worth it when Steve’s hands return to his chest, fingers merely ghosting over the skin. 

“I know I’ve got lots of scars,” Tony begins, shivering as Steve traces the latest addition – the edge of the skin grafts Dr. Cho gave him after most of the skin of his shoulder was burnt off. It’s still an angry red and might always stay that way, but there’s nothing Tony can change about it no matter how much he wants to. 

“You’re beautiful.”

The statement startles him in its sincerity but he can’t find Steve’s eye because he’s leaning forward, placing a soft kiss on the worst of the scaring. Tony’s throat has closed up so he can’t really reply, just let Steve continue mapping his chest with his lips. 

Somehow Tony ends up on the bed with Steve over him, tongue licking paths all across his body from the scars the arc reactor left down to the faint white line where he injured himself building his first engine years back. All Tony can do is gasp and shudder underneath him.

Once Steve had his fill he pulls down Tony’s pants and underwear, exerting the same care with them as he folds them and slips off the bed only to place them safely on the pile. When he returns Tony is prepared and flips them over so he is covering Steve’s body with his own. Or, well, part of Steve’s body since he’s broader. 

They lose themselves in kissing for a while, Steve’s erection a firm presence against Tony’s stomach, until Tony can’t ignore his own diamond-hard cock anymore. 

He pulls back with a coy smile, grinning as Steve blinks his eyes open slowly. 

“Grab the lube from the nightstand, would you?”

Steve complies with astounding speed, both eager and just as nervous as Tony is himself. He has to remind himself that he’s done this before, but somehow he can’t help but feel as if this is his first time as well. 

Steve holds out the bottle of lubricant (high-end and unopened, Tony’s been saving it) with a question in his eyes. Tony bites his bottom lip and takes the bottle from him, never breaking eye contact as he coats the index finger of his right and then reaches around his back. 

It is almost comical, the way Steve’s eyes widen when he realizes what Tony’s doing. His lips part and Tony has to concentrate really hard on keeping his balance in the new position. 

By the time he has worked a second finger inside himself and is enjoying the burn scissoring them brings, Steve’s higher brain functions have apparently returned and he clears his throat. 

“Can I… Can I see?”

Tony scrambles to comply, grateful to whoever decided to equip his suite with the biggest bed ever ‘cos it means he can just shuffle back and lie down, propping himself up on his left elbow while his right continues the prep work. 

“You wanna try?” Tony whispers, really proud when his voice doesn’t break. 

Steve nods and grabs the lube, then proves his superior cognitive abilities by taking over and doing it exactly the right way. 

“Fuck,” is all Tony can say to that ‘cos that are _Steve’s fingers inside him_ , and _shit_ that feels fucking fantastic. 

“You can add another,” he tells the guy. Shortly after that Tony is writhing and gasping ‘cos of course Steve found his prostate and is assaulting it mercilessly. 

“Please, ngh, please, slow down or it’s gonna be over embarrassingly quickly for me…”

Steve seems to contemplate the pros and cons for a moment before he pulls his fingers out and allows Tony to guide him on his back again with Tony kneeling over him. 

“So,” Tony says conversationally, using the opportunity to run his hands over Steve’s ridiculous chest. “I got tested recently and I’m clean. You can’t really get sick and you’ve never done this before, so I’d suggest we skip the condom, what do you say?”

“Yes, yeah, now can you please ride me now?”

Ngh, and that is how Tony Stark dies. “Fuck, you can’t just _say_ things like that!” 

But he’s already uncapping the lube and pouring a generous amount of slick over Steve’s erection. He has to close his eyes ‘cos the sight of those big eyes looking up at him all aroused and dark and ready is doing things to him. He breathes in deeply, then arranges himself with his knees next to Steve’s hip. One last glance at Steve’s expression and Tony goes for it, sinking down as slowly as he can manage. 

The sensation of the head breaching him alone is almost enough to send him over the edge, and it only gets better the more of Steve he takes, until his ass connects with Steve’s skin and Tony’s cock comes to rest on Steve’s abs. 

“Fuck, gimme a sec,” Tony tells Steve’s collarbone, hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Steve echoes, and Tony grins down at him, proud of having reduced Captain America to incoherency already. 

Steve smiles back and places his hands on Tony’s hips. It’s all the nudging he needs to start moving, rotating his hips at first before lifting himself up a little and then sinking down again, eyes transfixed by the way Steve’s expression fills with pleasure. 

It’s heady and addictive and Tony can’t get enough and never, ever wants to stop. 

He builds a rhythm, keeps the pace slow so they can both savor it, or to see how fast Steve snaps, he’s not really sure. He loses himself in the languid movements, relishing the slide of Steve’s cock inside him, and time stops being linear. 

With a strangled moan Steve eventually flips them over, Tony landing on his back with a cut-off “oomph” as his cock grows impossibly harder ‘cos that blatant display of strength and coordination was just… _yeah_. 

Steve is still inside of him and now that he’s hovering over Tony he seems unsure of how to proceed. Tony hopes he reads his expression right, though. 

“I won’t break, Steve,” he promises. “Go on.”

When Steve finally moves, it’s tentative at first, shallow but deep thrusts that chase a shiver up Tony’s spine, but as Steve gains momentum it shakes his entire body. 

“Yeah, harder, come on, I know you want to, yeah, god,” Tony babbles, digging his heels into the back of Steve’s thighs. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tony.”

“I’ll tell you if you do, babe, now please, fuck me like I know you want to – ahh…” Tony’s plea ends in a gasp because Steve listened and stopped holding back and damn, it’s better than anything Tony imagined. 

Steve slams into him without mercy, unforgiving and _hard_ , and Tony’s in heaven, unable to do anything but clutch at Steve’s shoulders and _take it_ , whimpering and gasping and writhing as the heat pools in the pit of his stomach. 

And then the bastard finds his prostate again and Tony’s brain short-circuits, white lights exploding in front of his closed eyes. He’s moaning and talking and everything’s so jumbled in his head ‘cos it all feels so fucking amazing and Steve is everywhere, inside and outside and so, so good. 

Awareness returns just as Steve stills, buried balls-deep inside him. He comes with a muffled moan, eyes closed and face twisted in pleasure. His arms give out but he’s not a supersoldier for nothing, which means he lands on Tony’s right with his mouth open and his eyes still closed, chest heaving and cock softening against his hip. 

Tony commits the image to memory and wishes they never had to leave this bedroom ever again. 

“Worth the wait?” he asks as soon as he’s sure that his voice will cooperate. It’s still a bit hoarse, but what the hell. 

Steve laughs, smiling without opening his eyes, and the sound fills the room. Then he turns his head and beams at Tony, carefree and happy and content, and Tony can barely believe that he did that; _he_ put that expression on Steve’s face. 

“More than worth it. We need to do that again. And again. And switch. And I need to blow you, can I? You can talk me through it.”

“Nghhh,” is the extent of Tony’s eloquence. He rolls over and kisses Steve, whispering, “Yes to all of that,” broken into single words because he can’t stop long enough to get the entire sentence out. 

Steve smiles into the next one, pulling Tony close until their chests are touching and he settles in against Steve’s shoulder, waiting until they’re both ready for round two. 

It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dances-around-happily* It happened! They did it :D And it’s going to happen again, in many different ways and positions (in an explicit manner when it suits the flow of the story) so no worries if bottom!Tony isn't your preference.  
> Also, the Trouble Trio part was supposed to be shorter, but Bruce wanted to have his BAMF moment with the diamond trader, and I can’t say no to him :) 
> 
> Next up: "Reunion", to be posted on Monday. 
> 
> PS: Sorry about glossing over New Year's Eve, but my Muse decided we're all still frustrated enough from chapter 1 ;)


	3. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can’t hold out any longer, take this update a few hours earlier than intended. You guys are still awesome, by the way! 
> 
> As the title suggests, the two plots are finally going to meet! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

Steve wakes before Tony, which quite frankly surprises him. He half-expected to come to in an empty bed or to find the other man tapping away on a tablet or his phone, but there he is, lying on his stomach and breathing evenly. There is maybe an inch of space between their bodies. 

Steve smiles to himself and closes his eyes again, memories from last night flashing through his mind. It is enough to make heat spread from his neck to his cheeks, though more from arousal than shame. If Tony showed him anything yesterday then it is that Steve has nothing to be ashamed of in bed, not even his initially clumsy attempts at oral sex. He never thought sex could be funny, but Tony just keeps on surprising him. 

He blinks his eyes open because he feels someone’s gaze on him and catches Tony staring at him from below his lashes. 

“Good morning,” Steve whispers, though all Tony manages is an unintelligible gurgling sound that could mean anything from “Morning” to “I need coffee” or “Teheran is the capital of Iran” for all Steve knows. 

Just as Steve is about to reach out and touch Tony’s bare shoulder, the man shifts and stretches, arching his back off the mattress like a cat. The sheets slip down to his hipbones where Steve can make out an impressive morning erection. 

“Why are you so awake?” Tony asks, eyes still closed as he extends his arms over his head. 

“Maybe I want to go another round before my morning run?”

The effect his statement has is immediate – Tony’s eyes fly open and he rolls onto his stomach, throwing one foot over Steve’s thighs and an arm over his chest. 

“Have I corrupted you, then?” he whispers into Steve’s skin, pink tongue darting out to lab at his left nipple. 

Steve shivers even as he pulls Tony closer with an arm across his shoulder. “I think you’ll need to try one more time. Make sure it’ll stick.”

“Oh, I’ll make it stick alright.” 

Tony falls silent after that, too busy licking his way down Steve’s body, remembering all the places that make his breath hitch from last night, which is why Steve isn’t laughing at the bad pun. 

He is about to tap Tony’s shoulder – because as amazing as _receiving_ oral sex is, Steve really, really wants to get his lips around Tony’s cock again – yet J.J.’s voice interrupts him. 

“Sirs, there is an unidentified vessel approaching.”

Both Tony and Steve freeze, eyes meeting above Steve’s torso. 

“You jinxed it!” Tony accuses, so close to pouting that Steve just has to lean down and kiss the indignation off Tony’s face. 

“On screen, J.J.,” Tony orders while they’re hunting down underwear. The AI reacts immediately, projecting a three-dimensional rendering of a high-wing, single engine aircraft near the foot of the bed that Steve thinks is a Cessna 172. 

“The approaching aircraft is a modified Cessna 172C,” J.J. confirms his thought. “The exterior is unarmed but my sensors are unable to scan the plane’s interior. According to records this vehicle is single seater on a recreational flight, sir.”

“Doesn’t look very recreational to me,” Tony mumbles, deferring the decision of how to react to Steve with a glance. 

He goes with his gut. “Sound the alarm, J.J. Tell the others to come armed, but not in full gear. The vessel appears unarmed, but they still failed to make their intentions known. They’re almost in missile reach. Facility weapons on standby.”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

“Ngh, you’re so hot when you’re giving orders,” Tony purrs behind him, one hand on his left shoulder blade, scraping at the skin there. 

“Tony, stop, I need my under armor,” he protests, though allows for one more kiss after he turns around to face the other man. 

He leaves as Tony rushes to his closet, probably also to find something suitable that is not the suit, and sprints down the hall and into the elevator that J.J. has undoubtedly fetched for him. 

By the time he has located his under armor as well as his shield and a few choice guns that find a home in the holsters of his uniform pants, the aircraft is four minutes out and all Avengers have gathered in the room leading out onto the landing deck on top of the facility’s main building. Tony is wearing bracelets and Steve has no doubts that the Mark IX is flying circles nearby. He looks particularly handsome in the formfitting black fabric he wears underneath the Iron Man suits and Steve has to actively tear his gaze away from him to meet the (knowing) eyes of his teammates. 

He briefs them in under a minute and they emerge from the room immediately after, spilling onto the landing pad and into formation. 

“Remember, don’t hit them unless they hit us first!” Steve commands and the team nods in unison. Warmth spreads in his chest at the gesture. All those team-building exercises were not in vain, after all. 

They have formed a half-circle with him in the middle, flanked by Nat and Clint. Tony and Rhodey follow on Steve’s right, Sam, Wanda and Vision on his left. Whatever the plane holds in store for them, they will be more than able to handle it. 

No one contacts them through any channels, which is a bit odd, though no one is firing at them either. Instead the aircraft just slows as whoever is piloting it – they are hidden from view by tinted glass – sets her down expertly on the facility’s roof landing pad. 

Steve holds his breath as the side door of the plane disengages and slides open. A man jumps down the few feet between him and the ground, landing in a crouch but straightening immediately. Steve isn’t the only one who gasps when they glimpse familiar features. 

Bruce Banner. 

Or at least it looks like Bruce, enough so that Tony is already breaking out of formation and seconds away from running across the few feet of concrete separating him from his science buddy. Supersoldier reflexes kick in and Steve’s hand closes around Tony’s wrist before he even takes a second step. 

“Cap, what the hell?”

“We don’t know it’s really him.”

The option apparently hasn’t registered with the young Stark for his face falls. They both turn towards Wanda whose expression betrays the merest hint of fear. Steve still vividly recalls how the last run-in between the Hulk and the Scarlet Witch turned out. Bruce is one scary man if that’s the effect he is aiming for. 

Wanda glances at them. “It’s him. I can see.”

The broad grin returns to Tony’s face, lighting up his entire being and Steve releases his wrist so he can bound across the tarmac with a loud “Bruce!”

Steve swallows down a wave of irrational jealousy. Irrational, because he knows it’s not the same, but it does baffle him that Tony can still be so hesitant about public displays of affection with him and yet hug the life out of Bruce. 

He approaches the pair, signaling his team to stand down even as his own pulse picks up. Bruce can fly the quinjet all right, though this plane is something else entirely, and judging by the smooth landing whoever is sitting in the pilot seat knows what they are doing. What if… But no. Steve shouldn’t get his hopes up like that. 

“Welcome back, Bruce,” he says, heartfelt, and shakes the proffered hand. 

“No, thank you, Captain. I wasn’t too keen on being arrested as soon as I landed.” There’s more to it, Steve can tell – probably residual guilt on Bruce’s part for wrecking Africa under the influence of Wanda’s spell – but he doesn’t call his friend out on it. If that’s still what they are… friends. 

“You back for good, then?” Tony inquires, and if he were a puppy he’d be jumping up and down and wagging his tail, Steve thinks half-amused, half-jealous. 

“If you’ll have me?” Bruce visibly forces himself to meet Steve’s eye.

“We never wanted you to leave in the first place. Though I understand why you did.”

The doctor shrugs eloquently; then his lips curl into a smirk. “I’ve brought you something. I hope it’ll make up for my absence.”

Bruce waves at the jet and Steve can feel seven Avengers and himself hold their collective breath. A familiar _whoosh_ and a breeze of displaced air confirms their theory and a split second later, Wanda cries out in delight. Steve looks over to see her arms wrapped around Pietro’s neck. Her brother lifts her off the ground and spins them around while the rest of them stare, equal measures happy and shocked to see the older twin alive and well when months ago he was bleeding out on a Sokovian street. 

Pietro smirks at Steve after he set Wanda down. “I walked it off, Captain. Like you said.” 

Wanda wipes a stray tear off her cheek but Pietro is already off, coming to a halt in front of Clint whose eyes are wide, skin pale. 

“You did not see that coming, did you?” the younger man quips, but his voice is thick. 

Clint swallows and says something too low for even Steve’s enhanced hearing to pick up, but he thinks his lips spell out “Shut up, kid” before he pulls Pietro into a one-armed hug. 

Which is when Tony slaps Steve’s arm, causing him to squint at his boyfriend in confusion. Tony just points to the jet Bruce and Pietro landed with. Steve follows the line of sight – and feels his blood freeze inside his veins. 

There, just below the plane’s open door, standing tall and unharmed and grinning, is Bucky. 

Bucky Barnes. 

In the flesh. 

Grinning at Steve as if it’s still 1943 and they’re minutes away from storming a Hydra outpost, his hair slightly different from both before and after his death. His smile is the same, though, just as his eyes and even the metal arm and the uniform. But this isn’t the Winter Soldier, it’s Bucky. 

“Geez, Stevie, cat got your tongue?” 

Now it’s Steve who throws every ounce of caution into the wind, closing the distance between him and his best friend in a few easy strides and only coming back to his senses when he has his face buried in the nape of Bucky’s neck and his arms slung around his thinner frame. 

It’s risky, and he’ll deal with the fallout if it was ill advised, but his instincts are screaming at him that it was the right thing to do, which proves to be true because Bucky is hugging back. His body is stiff and he is patting Steve’s back awkwardly, but he feels the same as, gosh, 73 years ago. 

Steve pulls back reluctantly but it’s fine because he gets to look at Bucky’s face now where emotions are battling for dominance. Bucky seems conflicted and embarrassed and guilty and pleased all at once. Steve wants to ask how he managed to get back, why now, why not earlier, wants to grouse and cheer simultaneously with no idea how to put his thoughts into words. 

It must have shown on his face for Bucky barks out a laugh. “Breathe, Stevie, geez, even I know that oxygen’s kinda important.”

“I think he’s a bit overwhelmed right now, what with you first trying to kill him, then dragging him out of the water, then running away for months and months. Talk about mixed signals, buddy.”

Steve isn’t sure whether Tony’s intervention is a good idea or a bad one. Bucky is scowling now and drawing in on himself, loosing the cockiness in the blink of an eye, so maybe it’s the latter, but he managed to knock Steve out of his stupor, so it’s not all bad. 

“We’ll talk inside,” Steve decides, then adds softly, “It’s good to see you again.”

Bucky tears his glare away from Tony at that, features softening as soon as he is focusing on Steve again, and nods. 

*

If asked later, Steve would be unable to recount the exact sequence of what happened in the hour after Bucky’s return. He knows that the team relocates to their communal area inside the facility and that Tony calls for breakfast both because Pietro admits to being hungry and because neither of the Avengers has eaten already, given the early hour of the trio’s arrival. 

Bruce is the second last to join them, but Natasha hung back as well so no one says anything. Steve catches Nat’s eye upon her return but she seems okay; settled even, so whatever the pair discussed was not overly negative. Steve doubts they will pick up where they left off – he’d advise Nat against it, actually. Bruce is certainly not ready for whatever Nat was offering, and she deserves someone who will devote himself to her fully. 

Over breakfast they learn about what happened, with Bruce carrying the brunt of the conversation. Bucky has fallen silent as soon as they entered the facility, though his eyes are alert and never stray far from Steve, a perpetual reassurance that he won’t just magically disappear. Steve wouldn’t do that even if he could. Pietro, meanwhile, is too energetic to offer much coherence, flitting in and out of his seat, hugging Wanda at irregular intervals or taking another slice of bacon from the buffet at a speed that Steve has problems following. 

“Wait, that guy has his own mine now?” 

Of course Tony would be familiar with the story of Bruce saving the son of a RUF-officer-turned-blood-diamond-miner. 

“Yes, and an army!” Pietro contributes, at the buffet again. He probably relishes not actually having to steal food, Steve muses. “Like the king of a small country. The farmer that Bruce asked for directions even told us to turn back.”

“I didn’t ask for directions,” Bruce argues. “I asked for information. His son’s in America now.”

“And man, the airport in Casablanca! Even had a flat screen,” Pietro continues as if he didn’t hear. “We saw you all fighting Crossbones.”

“Yeah, well, we sure could’a used you guys,” Sam says, but he’s smiling. “I bet you alone would’ve had them tied up in a heartbeat.”

“Yes, you seem faster,” Wanda continues, stating what everyone has been thinking at least once since Pietro has been flitting around again. 

The Enhanced just shrugs. “Maybe. You’re all still slow.”

“His healing has improved as well,” Bruce adds. “Barely needed my help all these months.”

“You know we kept you around for your cooking,” Pietro teases. 

Tony, meanwhile, is considering the young man with an expression Steve recognizes from the first time he saw Sam’s wings, practically screaming ‘Let me take it apart and improve it’. Steve gives it another thirty minutes before his boyfriend applies the same expression to Bucky’s arm and – 

_Oh. Bucky doesn’t know about Tony and me yet,_ Steve realizes with a start. 

Yet the initial moment of panic quickly gives way to mere unease. He doubts Bucky will react too badly – he was the one who never hesitated to bum a cigarette from the queers, or talk to the dancers when they met them on the streets of Brooklyn as they returned from their shows, sometimes still in costume. 

“- not a lab rat,” Wanda is snarling, and Steve could slap himself for zoning out of the conversation for a minute there. 

“I wouldn’t hurt him!” Tony promises, and just like that Steve knows exactly what this is about. 

“Tony, could you let them settle in first before asking to poke them with sharp objects?” he suggests, finding himself on the receiving end of innocent, brown eyes. 

“I totally would have done that,” Tony insists. “But –”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I’ll shut up.”

“That’ll be a first,” Rhodey pipes up and Tony throws a napkin at him from across the table. 

“Is there a bed I could borrow?” Everyone turns to Pietro, who seems a little overwhelmed by all the attention. “I mean… Just for a few hours.”

Tony’s grin returns. “Oh, kiddo, you’re gonna love this!”

Which is when their group disbands and Steve somehow ends up cancelling morning training in favor of showing Bucky to his room and – or so he hopes – getting a word or two out of the man. It was Tony’s idea who didn’t even kiss him goodbye which Steve thought a wise choice. He has no idea what Bucky’s headspace is like at the moment; better easing him into how his best friend is dating another man. 

“So… what do you say?” Steve waves his hands a little helplessly, indicating the spacious room. 

Every Avenger has the same quarters – a comfortable bedroom with soft sheets and a mattress you can calibrate at will (which led to Steve setting his to the hardest setting available because modern beds are still too soft for his tastes), a big bathroom and a living room that Tony adapted to each person’s preferences in the initial planning phase. Next to the TV and sofa Steve’s has a lot of space for easels and paints, which he loves, as well as a sand bag in a corner if Steve does not want to go to the Avengers gym for whatever reason. 

Bucky received a still generic set of rooms, but Tony chose to put him into the one in the corner overseeing the grounds, which will hopefully help put him at ease since this way Bucky can see if enemies are approaching. 

That is a long way off, though, since Bucky looks as if he expects enemies to emerge from underneath the bed, he is so tense. His right hand hasn’t left the gun at his hip ever since they exited the communal area and his eyes are cataloguing every inch of the premises. Steve lets him. 

He cannot begin to fathom how strange it must be for Bucky after months on the run and years spent in Hydra’s clutches. No one pried during breakfast and those who looked like they were about to quickly aborted when Clint caught their eye. Steve would laugh if it weren’t so sad that they are all messed up enough to understand or at least accept Bucky’s silence. 

Steve walks about the quarters and the movement sets Bucky in motion. He checks every room then, every exit, looks everywhere for bugs or hidden features, Steve presumes, and eventually points to the thin line of glass just underneath the ceiling. 

“What's that?”

“Jarvis Junior. He’s an artificial intelligence. He actually runs the tower in New York but Tony installed him here as well. He isn’t recording, just there in case you need anything. But you can switch him to privacy mode, where he won’t even do that.”

Bucky clears his throat but when he makes his request, his voice is still hoarse. “How do I do that?”

“I’ll show you.”

Steve walks Bucky through the stages after showing him the pad next to the doors where he will be able to turn privacy mode off should he ever want to. 

“Stark built all this.”

Steve nods. “Although if you want to get technical, he just designed it and other people built it.” That earns him a twitch of Bucky’s lips, so he goes on. “And he might seem like a jerk at first, but once you get to know him Tony’s a really swell guy. The team is really great, Bucky, and I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“I almost killed two of them in Washington.”

Bucky isn’t meeting his eyes so Steve can close his for a brief second. He has dreaded this particular conversation ever since the implications of the postcard hit him fully. 

“That wasn’t you.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t look like me.”

“Well, I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But it’ll be worth it, Buck.”

The nickname is what does it and suddenly blue eyes are staring back at Steve, so unlike the ones he last saw on a train in Europe. They are older, more weathered, darkened by guilt and loneliness. All in all, however, Bucky is in a much better state than Steve expected him to be when he allowed himself to think about his return. Roaming Asia, the Middle East, and Africa with the Hulk and Quicksilver seems to have helped, or at least that is Steve’s theory. 

“I’m not your Bucky anymore.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Steve’s breath hitches but he forces himself to speak despite the hot pang of pain the statement ignites in his chest. “What do you mean by that?”

Bucky averts his eyes again, looking somewhere left of Steve’s feet. 

“I mean,” he grits out, “that I’m not – I mean I won’t ever be the man you lost on that bridge again. I remember him, and you, and the Commandoes… But I also remember most of what came after. What Hydra made me do. What they turned me into.”

“Buck – I mean… I’m not asking you to. I’m not the same guy you saved back then either.”

“Still seem pretty similar to me.”

But Steve is already shaking his head. “You’ll see. It hasn’t been easy for me either, waking up. It’s hard to explain… Do you want to rest? The beds are really soft, so if you can’t sleep there I won’t tell anyone if you spend the first few nights on the sofa or on the floor. Hell knows I have.”

“I don’t think I could sleep.”

“A shower, then?”

Bucky shrugs. 

“Or what do you want? Anything, Bucky.”

“How are you?” Steve can’t say he expected that. “I mean, I followed up on you a couple of times, made sure you’re still alive. But the papers don’t tell you anything worth knowing anymore.”

The observation is so true it startles a chuckle out of Steve. “Yeah, I guess. I’m… Why don’t we sit?”

They settle in on the large sofa, both near the middle with enough space between them that Steve can’t feel Bucky’s body heat. Steve rubs the back of his neck, biting his lip. 

“Where do you want me to start?”

Bucky is quiet for a second. “Just… tell me about what happened after DC. Bruce told us some stories, but they were all pretty funny. I think he was editing out a lot of the crappier stuff.”

“Oh no, he told you about the kitten, didn’t he?”

It has the desired effect and Bucky laughs, full and heartfelt if a bit surprised. “Yeah. The punk almost pissed himself.”

“Well, it’s a funny story, I guess.” 

When Bucky doesn’t respond, Steve starts at the beginning, or at least the post-DC one where he woke up in the hospital and then started looking for Bucky with Sam before joining up with the Avengers to aimlessly raid Hydra bases until agents had found Strucker’s hideout. 

“Falcon needs to work on his stealth training,” is all Bucky comments as Steve talks, and it’s sassy enough that Steve almost hugs Bucky again. 

Steve does mention the vision Wanda gave him, and how it helped him accept himself as a soldier rather than a man of peace. He skips most of the other ugly details of what happened with Ultron, however, and then fills Bucky in regarding the new status quo of the Avengers Initiative. 

“We’re basically independent, though we’re cooperating closely with SHIELD, which is probably going to change because there’s been talk of the UN reinstating the agency. Tony’s practically financing everything, including the training of the newest recruits to the Initiative… Pepper – that’s Pepper Potts, the CEO –”

“Everyone knows who Pepper Potts, is, Stevie.”

“Uh, right, anyway… She explained it to me once, but I never really cared for the legal aspects –”

“No kidding.”

“Shut it, Bucky, I’m telling a story here –”

“Right now you’re talking about shit you don’t know nothing about.”

“Like you’re such an expert on international military law.”

“I’m not head of the Avengers, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve shoots back and then he can’t stop himself anymore. He pulls Bucky close and this time the man is more relaxed. He even hugs back tentatively. 

“So,” Steve continues, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly in the hopes Bucky won’t see. Okay, he’s not actually hoping the Winter Soldier is going to miss how misty his eyes have become, but he thinks he can count on his best friend to ignore it. “Where was I?”

It takes a bit to explain the situation, how the Avengers are technically an independent international strike team but affiliated with the American DOD and the World Security Council, and how this combined with their private funding contributes to operating procedures. 

“But that means we got some leverage. If we throw our weight around enough, I’ll be able to score you a pardon as well. You’ll probably be put on probation for a bit, but you’ll sail through that.”

Bucky looks so vulnerable then that Steve has a hard time keeping to his side of the sofa. He doesn’t know what the fella was expecting – surely not that Steve would let him be put in jail? 

“And how are _you_?” Bucky repeats his earlier question after a couple of minutes spent in companionable silence. His lips twist into a smirk. “I betcha all the dames are throwing themselves at you now, Stevie. I’ve seen what your fan clubs get up to…”

“Please, don’t remind me,” Steve practically begs. As much as he loves his fans and is continuously flattered and humbled by people calling him their idol, the attention and the directions it can take still dazzle him. 

“No one caught your eye, then?”

Heat spreads across Steve’s cheeks and he ducks his head. He can feel Bucky raising an eyebrow. 

“Who’s the lucky bird? 

Steve only colors further. He’s sure the tips of his ears are glowing now and his reaction is enough to give Bucky pause and turn the mirthful glint in his eyes into a calculating one. He’s always been quick on his feet and despite what he said earlier, he still seems to know Steve better than anyone. 

“Hm. A fella, then?” 

Steve manages a nod, though Bucky’s expression doesn’t betray anything but open curiosity. 

“Who is it?” Bucky goes on, though before Steve can gather the courage to open his mouth, Bucky has resumed talking. “Wait, I betcha I can guess. You’ve always been all work and no play, so I’m gonna go with someone on the team. Right?”

Steve swallows but nods. Frankly he is a little intrigued which of his teammates Bucky’s going to choose. 

“Barton just lost his wife, so I’ma say he’s out. That Rhodes guy’s straight as an arrow as far as I can tell, so not him either.” Bucky tilts his head and if not for the hair Steve would think he travelled back in time since he has seen the same movement innumerable times back when they were kids. 

“Wilson. Yeah, I’m saying Wilson.”

Steve laughs out loud at that. “Sam? Seriously?” 

“You’re close.”

“He’s a good friend.”

“But not that good?”

Steve shakes his head and suddenly his nerves are acting up. Why didn’t Bucky guess right? Are they such an odd pair? He takes a deep breath and says Tony’s name on an exhale. 

“What about –” Bucky reels back a little when realization hits him. “Stark? You’re dating _Stark_?”

Steve has no idea why that warrants this amount of indignation, but he squares his shoulders and meets Bucky’s glare defiantly. 

“You remember his old man at all? That guy was chasing skirts left and right and his son’s no better! Couldn’t even keep Potts around… you sure about this, Stevie?”

“He’s not like Howard,” Steve insists. 

“You mean he’s not an eccentric engineer with a god-complex who’s married to his work and’s had all of _one_ relationship that lasted over four months?”

“That’s not fair –”

“No, it’s not, namely to you! You deserve so much better, Steve.”

“I don’t think that’s your call to make.”

Whatever Bucky was about to reply, it gets stuck in his throat as his eyes widen. Steve has no illusions – the way he feels is certainly written all over his features, clear enough for Bucky to decipher. 

Bucky deflates somewhat after that, anger draining from his shoulders, yet his scowl remains. “He better appreciate you,” he growls with a viciousness that takes Steve aback. “He should be thanking the gods day and night that you’d so much as consider going out with him.”

“Please don’t tell him that.”

“Why? He acting all haughty? Like you’re the one who –”

“No! Just the opposite, all right? When I asked him out he thought it was a hallucination at first.”

“What?”

“He thought it was a fever dream or something. He couldn’t believe I’d want to date him.”

“Good.”

“You don’t even know him, Buck.”

“Well, then I’d better get to, huh, punk?”

Bucky grins at him and Steve isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. But his best friend (or rather, an expanded version) is back for good, so he supposes he has time to figure it out. 

*

Clint is waiting for Bruce when the man enters his quarters. The arrow buries itself in the wall, barely missing Bruce’s head by the width of a hair. 

Widened brown eyes find Clint’s across the expanse of the living room. There is not a hint of green in them. Good. The Hulk better keep out of this. 

“You ever hurt her like that again,” Clint finally speaks, “the next arrow won’t miss. And that time it’ll be filled with something even the Other Guy can’t save you from.”

It takes a second before Bruce’s joints unlock and he nods slowly. 

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I never wanted to hurt her.”

“Should’ve made up your mind sooner.”

“Yes.”

Fuck, how Clint hates it when people do that… He’d loved for Bruce to fight back, say he didn’t do anything wrong... but yeah, Bruce isn’t like that. He’s a good guy, and smart in a way Clint is never going to be. 

So instead of arguing further, Clint just inclines his head. “It’s good to have you back, big guy. Both of you.”

He retreats through the vents as soon as Bruce answered his nod in kind. 

Clint passes through the shafts aimlessly for a few moments, then takes the familiar route up to the roof. The building holding the living quarters is higher than the administration, leisure, and training complexes, which stretch underneath his feet as they are dangling in the air. He doesn’t have words for how it makes him feel that one of the shafts leads directly to the highest point of the facility with the best vantage point. Stark can front all he wants but underneath it all, he’s a giant sap and a good man. 

Time passes him by until Clint picks up on footsteps on the other side of the door leading down the staircase into the building. Or well, not _Clint_ per se – his hearing aids. State of the art tech, actually loads better than his real ears used to be. Took some getting used to, but by now Clint’s mostly accepted them. 

He doesn’t turn around. He knows who it is. 

“You mind?” Pietro asks, pointing to the spot on the ledge next to Clint who shakes his head. The kid sits down, his movements measured and precise. “Nice spot.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls. Clint has no idea what to say. He dreamt about it, after Ultron. Dreamt about seeing the young man again who saved his life and paid with his own, but now his throat’s as dry as back on the landing pad. 

It is Pietro who breaks the silence, his voice rough and accent-thick. “I heard about your wife. I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks.”

“Your kids are safe, yes?”

Clint nods. “Tony pulled some strings, got them into a fortress of a school here in the city. We talk every night. Sometimes I take Stella out to visit.”

“Stella?”

“Uh, Stark built her for Christmas. She’s basically a helicopter. Lila named her.”

“He’s a generous man.”

“You mean he thinks all problems go away if you throw enough money at them.”

Pietro doesn’t take the bait and when Clint chances a glance at him, his eyes are soft. He knows just as well as Clint that that’s a load of crap. Maybe it used to be true, back before the Battle of New York, but Tony’s grown out of that. He wouldn’t have built Stella by himself if he hadn’t; just bought a generic chopper and be done with it. 

“Thought you said you’re tired?” Clint eventually asks, making Pietro smile for some reason. 

“I was. I slept. Four hours are enough for me.”

“Ah, to be young again,” Clint quips and Pietro shoves at his shoulder, the movement nothing more than a blur in the corner of his eye. 

“My sister says you named your youngest child after me.”

It’s not a question, but Clint replies anyway. “Yeah… Wait, I’ll show you a picture.” He finds the photograph in the depths of his pockets, small with obvious signs of wear and tear and tucked between the fabric of his pants and a picture of Laura with Lila and Cooper. Nate is wearing the onesie with his full name on it and looking right at the camera with watchful eyes. 

Pietro seems at a loss of what to say. Clint’s relieved he doesn’t resort to platitudes; he’s got them coming out of his ears along with pitying looks from Hill and the other agents when he runs into them involuntarily. 

After a while Pietro hands the picture back with trembling hands. He is quiet for a long minute and Clint thinks he won’t say anything at all for the rest of their stay up here, but then the kid exhales audibly. 

“They took my picture.”

“Hm?”

“AIM. Or Hydra, not sure which. When they excavated me, they took my picture. Wanda said she made sure I was buried with it, and they took it away.”

It dawns on Clint with a start which picture Pietro is talking about – the one of his parents, the only one he ever had. Wanda spoke of it at length, how her brother used to clutch it tightly when the experiments were particularly painful, or when they couldn’t be close for medical reasons to comfort each other.

“Fuck,” he says emphatically. Then it hits him. “Hey, what if we could find anther picture of them?”

“Which part of ‘a bomb destroyed our house’ passed you by?”

“Cut the sass, kid. I’m serious.”

“How?” 

Clint whips out his phone, one of the prototypes of the newest generation set to premier in February that’s being Avengers-proved at the moment, and calls on J.J. to see if he can find any images online. 

“Scour every database if you’ve got to, hell, hack ‘em all, just find a picture, okay?”

“I shall endeavor my best, Agent Barton.”

Pietro, meanwhile, is blinking at the device in Clint’s hands. “Why is Vision inside your phone?”

“Nah, that’s Jarvis Junior. Same voice as the old Jarvis and Vision. Tony rebuilt his AI, but don’t worry, he’s safe. Vision checked.”

The Enhanced does not seem convinced at all and Clint can’t blame him. It took him a few days himself not to jump each and every time J.J. offered information or relayed a message. 

“Sirs, I have found three results matching your parameters.”

“Show us.”

Three pictures appear on the small screen, then J.J. zooms in on each of them in turn and displays them on a loop while Pietro is staring, mouth agape. Two of the photos are nothing special, just official-looking images used on passports, but the third hits the jackpot: it shows a man and a woman, each of them with a child in their arms, smiling at the camera. 

“Pause on that, J.J. Do you know when this was taken?”

“I found it in an online album on someone’s Facebook after running facial recognition based on the passport photographs. The person who uploaded them appears to have been the Maximoff’s neighbor at the point the picture was taken. They are currently residing outside Sokovia. I can contact them if you desire.”

“Give us a bit, J.J. Maybe find out how we can get in touch for later; in case Pietro or Wanda want to.”

The former is still unresponsive, completely transfixed by the image on the little phone screen. 

“Come on,” Clint says, and pats Pietro’s back as he climbs to his feet. “We’ll find a printer and get you a hard copy.”

He watches the kid swallow thickly and trail after him, eyes never leaving the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: “The next step”, to be posted on Thursday. 
> 
> Phew, what an emotional rollercoaster… I hope you’re all okay? 
> 
> PS: Sorry to the Bruce/Nat shippers among you. It just didn’t feel right for me in this fic…


	4. The next step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy on world building, ye be warned. But it’s super long, and there’s a Tony-Bucky moment! And a Bruce-Bucky moment! And a – yeah, stopping now. 
> 
> Also, this story is set in a world where women are allowed to become Combat Controllers in the Air Force. Because that’s still not a thing, apparently. (Combat Controllers are individuals who advance into enemy territory and then call in air strikes or else. I used to think SEALS were the toughest US soldiers, but alas, CCTs’ training is even more extensive.)
> 
> CCT = Combat Control Team  
> LO = Liaison Officer  
> Sources for legal stuff in Marvel’s multiverse can be found [here](http://lawandthemultiverse.com/2012/05/07/the-avengers-s-h-i-e-l-d/) and [here](http://lawandthemultiverse.com/2011/02/09/superheroes-and-international-law/).

Boredom and Tony are a combination that used to send Jarvis – the human one – running through the mansion looking for appliances that needed fixing. At one point the man even damaged a television set on purpose just to have something to hand to a younger version of Tony and thus keep him occupied. 

Of course that’s not going to happen anymore… And with Steve in a meeting with the WSC for the foreseeable future (okay, maybe the next six hours) and all other Avengers neatly packed away either doing important Avenger Things in different parts of the world (none of which required Tony’s brand of expertise) or taking a personal day to visit their niece for her birthday (lookin’ at you, Falcon), Tony has nothing to do but paperwork. Okay, and Vision’s cube from Christmas, which Tony still hasn’t solved. He even considered just cracking it open with brute force, but where’d be the fun in that? And when he swallowed his pride and asked Vision for pointers, all the guy had replied was, “When you are ready, you will succeed.” Cryptic much? 

So yeah, no passing the time solving impossible puzzles. Not even Bruce is available to science with him (“Science is not a verb, Tony,” Bruce claimed yesterday, but what does he know, right?) ‘cos he’s meditating. With Pietro. Yeah, it’s going as badly as can be expected. 

Anyway, all that’s left is paperwork. And well, it’s paperwork, so Tony won’t do it until Pepper is literally jamming a pen into his hand. 

He’s also hit a dead end with his newest project aka finding a way to make the arc reactor engine that powers the Avengers Initiative’s motorcycles and Tony’s now finished R8 models work in a more consumer-friendly way, which is the Board’s polite way of saying, “Dumb it down so it won’t cost a million to manufacture and we can patent it and sell it to car companies.” Which means he can’t play with schematics or re-run simulations either. 

He even returned to the facility – he made himself scarce ‘cos Steve and Bucky had a lot of catching up to do and Tony didn’t want Steve to have too feel bad about skipping out on time with him when Tony isn’t hanging out with Bruce – in the hopes it’d help inspire him, but no such luck. 

Instead he is roaming the facility on the hunt for something to do. He finds the object of his desire in the Avengers’ communal kitchen in the form of a large coffee maker. 

Two hours later, said coffee maker can also brew tea (as in, grab a tea bag with its new metal arm plus boil water to a predetermined temperature ‘cos Bruce prefers his hotter than Sam who likes it hotter than Wanda who chucks a finished cup at a speed to rival her brother) and add shots of various spirits to its caffeinated creations. Tony tries out both Irish Coffee and Baileys Cappuccino just to make sure everything’s working.

He’s watching the machine whip up a Kalúa Mocha when his phone rings, Pepper’s face appearing on the display. He puts her on speaker so he can keep tinkering with the machine while it’s brewing. 

“Pepper, dearest, what can I do for you on this fine morning?”

“It’s afternoon, Tony.”

“That’s what I said.”

He can actually hear her sigh, though she switches over to a quick exchange of ‘how are you’s before broaching the reason for her call. 

“Tony, Mike wants to know how involved you’re going to be in the launch of the StarkVision product line.”

“Then Mike should send me an email.”

“Mike did send you an email. He sent you many, many emails, which is why Mike is bugging _me_ now, the very busy CEO of your company.”

“Well, he should work on his email writing skills.”

“Or you could tell Jarvis Junior to stop ignoring communications from PR.”

The Kalúa Mocha is finished by now, so Tony takes a large gulp. Yeah, that’s definitely one to add to the menu. 

Somewhat mollified, Tony asks, “What’s Mike suggesting?”

“That you give the keynote speech at the Launch Fair in February,” Pepper replies slowly, as if uncertain whether or not Tony’s level of cooperation is true or faked. 

“Knowing Mike it won’t be just a tiny little speech.”

“Well, there’d be the Q&A, and maybe a few interviews with select publications –”

“Ugh, let’s not,” Tony complains, because while he loves talking about science, explaining his level of genius to the broad masses sucks all the fun out of it. Oh, and he hasn’t given an interview since he told the Mandarin his home address, which might also, potentially, theoretically, play into his current aversion. 

“Do you want people to buy your upgraded, energy saving and more secure tech or not?”

Tony downs the rest of his drink and pushes the button for another one harder than strictly necessary ‘cos Pepper has a point, that’s the problem. He gave their entire product line a complete overhaul, made everything fit together perfectly from hardware to the new operating system. The new processors are five times faster instead of just twice so, and they use fifty percent less energy compared to previous models, plus have the strongest network security manageable without extra server space, all that at a fraction of the cost ‘cos Tony is a genius (and Vision helped, yeah, yeah) and it’s gonna blow everyone away who has ever owned a smart phone or a computer or a tablet. 

Pepper lets out a long breath. “Tony. You’re still our biggest sales magnet. Especially now that you’ve been absent for so long and after your recent appearances as Iron Man… If you go out and promote StarkVision, then everyone’s going to buy it and isn’t that going to make the world a better place?”

Damn Pepper and her knowledge of which buttons to push to get Tony to do what she thinks is best. That’s exactly what StarkVision is about, why the new operating system is already being installed on the older tech without charging a cent for the update, why Stark Industries is viciously attempting to goad large computer manufacturers to make deals with them and install SV-1 on their hardware instead of Windows 11. Or why Tony is trying so hard to make the arc engine commercially viable, for that matter. 

Tony sips his fourth alcohol-infused concoction and grumbles, “Send Mike upstate; he can pester me in person.”

“I’ll let him know. Oh, and Tony?”

“Hm?”

“I’ll have to send Steve a fruit basket for keeping your mood up.”

And _that’s_ how most of his fourth drink ends up all over Tony’s shirt. But Pepper has already ended the call, so he can’t complain about that to her. 

“She sounds tough.” 

And _that_ is how the rest of his fourth drink ends up all over Tony’s designer pants. That’s the danger of living in a house full of assassins and spies – one of them might just sneak up on you. 

“Shit, I’ll get you a bell if this happens more often, seriously, Barnes,” Tony curses, darting over to where he thinks the napkins are hiding after setting his glass back down and telling the machine to make another one. Of course he added voice recognition, _please_. 

The Winter Soldier seems unimpressed. “You need to pay better attention.”

Tony harrumphs and nods towards the coffee maker. “You want any?”

Barnes shakes his head. He’s out of his gear, having swapped that against SHIELD-issued sweatpants, a white Stark Industries tee and a hoodie with a zipper that is covering most of his metal arm. That guy really needs to go shopping. 

For a while he just considers Tony, who starts fidgeting underneath the scrutiny while the coffee machine hums in the background. They’ve never been alone before, except once for a very brief moment in which Barnes looked like he’d burst a vessel from the strain of trying to think of something to say. Tony saved him by promising, “I’m not holding a grudge. It wasn’t you; it was the asset Hydra made you. I’ve had since Washington to accept that, so don’t sweat it.” 

And that was all that was said about his parents’ killer joining the Avengers. Tony isn’t even faking it – he spent weeks after the Washington debacle fuming and raging and plotting revenge until he eventually read _all_ the files and realized how little power the Winter Soldier actually had over his actions. It was kinda hard keeping up the grudge then. 

So yeah. Steve’s best friend and he aren’t gonna have a problem. 

“Steve told me,” Barnes finally says and there’s no doubt what he’s referring to. Tony already knows Barnes knows since Steve told _him_ last night (first night back at the facility after three nights away) when he went to bed at a normal hour and was rewarded with wonderful skin-on-skin action for his commendable behavior. 

Knowing doesn’t mean he isn’t a bit terrified of what’s coming, though. 

“Is this the part where you promise to kill me if I hurt him?” Tony barges forward ‘cos from time to time the best defense actually is a good offense. 

Barnes’ blank expression doesn’t shift. “I’m not going to kill you, Stark. I’ll apply every single torture method I’ve learnt in the past seventy years to you until you’re begging me to kill you. I’ll let you live because for some sentimental reason, Stevie’s fond of you. So you better not screw this up.”

At some point all saliva has vacated Tony’s mouth and throat, leaving him swallowing convulsively and forcing his increased heart rate down again. He doesn’t doubt for one second that Barnes is utterly serious. Hell, Tony has been in the guy’s position once when Rhodey’s girlfriend broke his heart and Tony hacked a few databases to avenge his best friend (like he promised her he would if she hurt Rhodey). 

Barnes seems to be referring to broken bones rather than broken credit ratings, but well… 

Oh, right, Barnes is still waiting for his reaction. Tony grabs the almost forgotten drink from the machine and meets the Soldier’s stare head on. “I’ll do everything in my power to make him happy, I swear.”

That’s apparently enough for the guy (for now), because he visibly relaxes and Tony feels safe to actually consume the drink this time. They spend a few minutes in, well, not _comfortable_ silence ‘cos there’s still a lot of shit hanging in the air between them which is gonna take time to smooth over, but it’s not as awkward as it was before Tony’s confession regarding the death of his parents. 

Barnes clears his throat, then. “Steve said you’ll want to take a look at my arm. He also said he asked you not to guilt-trip me into agreeing to that, so you probably won’t say anything.”

“How could I possibly guilt-trip you into anything?”

Barnes shrugs with his good arm. “We’re all living on your dime, including me, unless until the Council gets their heads out of their asses and decide whether to execute or hire me.”

“So _Steve_ actually guilt-tripped you into letting me take a crack at your arm?” Tony aims for humor since the other option would be an overly enthusiastic begging and he’s not that desperate to take a crack at that tech. Yet. 

To his surprise Barnes actually smirks at that. “Catch on quick, don’t ya?”

“They didn’t call me prodigy for nothing.” Tony empties the glass and leaves it near the sink. “So we gonna do this or what?”

Barnes shifts, jamming his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Only if Bruce is there too.”

“Oh, yeah, he told me all about how he’s an expert on pre-turn-of-the-century bio-electrical prosthetics. Bruce done yet, J.?”

“Dr. Banner is just finishing his meditation session.”

Tony doesn’t miss how Barnes jumps at the sound of the disembodied voice, though he has composed himself a split second later. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Come on, we’ll collect Scotty on our way. Or wait, would he be Bones?”

Blue eyes blink at him in confusion and Tony groans. 

“Scotty? Bones? Seriously? How can you _not know that_?”

“Hydra. Brainwashing,” Barnes deadpans, raising both eyebrows and making Tony want to bite off his own tongue. 

“Barbaric, that’s what it is,” he babbles, ‘cos he’s not being offensive enough as it is, “but hey, Steve can catch you up! Star Trek can be your best friend reconnection activity!”

The other man just stares at him and Tony decides he should really stop talking now and find Bruce. He really can’t squander this chance to finally get his hands on the arm that’s been taunting him ever since he saw the footage. 

It’s gonna be awesome.

*

_01/14/2016_  
_Hero Watch Magazine, Frank Jovovich_

_AVENGERS EXPANDED – INITIATIVE GAINS TWO MEMBERS AS HULK RETURNS_

_The Avengers convened a press conference yesterday to deliver some really good news: The Hulk is back, everyone!_  
_Our green favorite has been absent from the team since the battle of Sokovia, and now he is finally reinstated as a full member of the team, as Captain America explained at yesterday’s press conference. Before aiding the rest of the Avengers in the defeat of Ultron last April, Hulk wreaked havoc in a town on the African Cost after being put under a spell. So obviously authorities wanted to arrest his human counterpart, but Captain Rogers successfully campaigned to have the warrant revoked in the months after Sokovia. Response to that has been overly positive – the majority of Americans wanted the Hulk back, surveys showed._  
_Captain America also announced two more additions to his team: Quicksilver, twin brother of the Avenger known as Scarlet Witch, whose super speed will turn the heads of their enemies in upcoming battles, as well as the Winter Soldier. As you can imagine this statement of the chief superhero provoked a pretty severe reaction from the attending reporters. We all remember the incident in Washington and the Winter Soldier’s role in a staggering number of assassinations, including that of Howard and Maria Stark. And now we are supposed to believe that the bad guy is on our side?_  
_That is exactly what Cap asked of us. He explained that the Winter Soldier recently escaped Hydra’s clutches and has crossed sides. “I personally vouch for him,” Rogers stated. “He is reformed and both I and every single member of my team trust him with our lives. The Word Security Council also signed off on his involvement. That has to be enough for you.”_  
_It certainly was not enough to appease the critics, but if we can forgive the Hulk for his destructive rampages while mind controlled, we will eventually accept the Winter Soldier as well. He just needs to prove his worth first._  
_As to his code name, the Avengers Initiative considered equipping the Winter Soldier with a new superhero persona, yet considering everyone would recognize the man as the masked assassin from Washington, a decision was made to keep his old code name and transform its negative connotation into a positive one._  
_In somewhat unrelated and more frivolous news, Captain Rogers appeared in particularly good spirits at the press conference. This might be related to rumors of a romantic involvement on his part, which originated in late December when he turned down an interested party with the explanation he was already seeing someone. When one of the reporters present broached the subject yesterday, however, all the Captain had to say was this, unfortunately: “I will not comment on my private life. Please don’t waste your questions on that in the future.”_  
_Speculation is, of course, running high, even though no one has managed to unearth any details on which dame might have won our dear Captain’s heart._

*

_01/15/2016_  
_New York Times_

_S.H.I.E.L.D. RISES FROM THE ASHES – UNITED NATIONS BACK THE ORGANIZATION_

_In a much-anticipated decision, the United Nations and its World Security Council granted S.H.I.E.L.D., the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, the same rights it had prior to its downfall, adding several caveats to ensure better oversight._  
_In 2014, Captain America and Agent Natasha Romanoff exposed a conspiracy that undermined the very heart of the organization they had sworn to serve. The United Nations subsequently labeled S.H.I.E.L.D. a terrorist organization._ _However, on the grounds of commendable actions of its remaining agents, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been reinstated as the world’s largest and fastest protective force as of January 14th. The organization will resume its duties of protecting the world against superhuman, inhuman and extraterrestrial threats across the globe_.  
_Not all things remain the same, though – there have been some noteworthy staffing changes: Long-time director Nick Fury, whose contribution during the Battle of Sokovia saved many lives, has retired. The identity of the new Director is as of yet classified, given how prone the person in this position is to attempts on their lives._  
_The Director will have to answer to a Supervisory Council that represents a majority of UN member states as well as SHIELD representatives. SHIELD will also resume its cooperation with the Avengers Initiative and reincorporate any of its agents currently operating from the New Avengers Facility in New York who are not decidedly affiliated with the Avengers._  
_The decision provoked some protests: The most prominent point of contention is that of the involvement of Stark Industries. Opponents are accusing the UN of “privatizing world peace” by allowing the corporation to function as a major financial backer. So far Mr. Stark has only been officially funding the Avengers Initiative, yet it is no secret that many remaining SHIELD agents in US-territory have relocated to the New Avengers facility where they continue to work on SI’s dime._  
_Others point out that private investors are an inevitable necessity, given that the UN’s total budget only stretches 5,5 billion USD and that S.H.I.E.L.D. requires much more than that. The real questions seem to be: Do we want an international defensive force to keep us safe from aliens? Or do we want to keep business interests away from our security sector?_  
_[continued on page 3-7]_

*

_01/15/2016_  
_OP-ED, Times_

_HOW CAPITALISM HIDES BEHIND PHILANTHROPY_  
_Or: Why Tony Stark is the most ruthless business man of our time_

_After the Battle of New York, Tony Stark was quick to pounce – he entered into a partnership with SHIELD and no one batted an eye. That man had just saved New York, after all! And now he’s giving money to the organization protecting us from aliens? Give that guy a medal! So what if he’s also registering the Avengers as a trademark under Stark Industries? Give the man a break. All those suits of armor surely ain’t cheap._  
_Don’t get me wrong – Tony Stark has done a lot of good. Shutting down SI’s weapon manufacturing was the largest leap on the way to global peace we have seen since the end of the Cold War. Arc reactor technology promises an end to the energy crisis. Iron Man inspires people and is a viable weapon against threats._  
_And without Tony Stark’s swift action after the fall of SHIELD, the agency would have lost every inch of ground they stood on. As it went, Stark supplied the Avengers Initiative with funds and technology, enabling them to tackle Hydra in the aftermath of the debacle of Washington. Also volunteering as financial backer for SHIELD now that the WSC has approved them again seems like the next logical step, doesn’t it?_  
_Well, quite frankly, Tony Stark would be stupid not to fork over billions of dollars. Why? Because those contributions give Stark Industries a lot of leeway as a corporation. Not only political capital, no – economic benefits as well. Advantages earned with the World Trade Organization in the aftermath of the UN’s decision are said to save the multinational company quite a sum in taxes, fees, and much more. Then there is the boost at the stock market that will undoubtedly follow the announcement. And think of all the additional Avengers fan articles they can produce! SHIELD t-shirts! Jackets! Model quinjets! And according to rumors, the newest SI product line will even be available in special Avengers editions… all of which will only help increase the annual 200 billion Dollars worth of profits SI reaps._  
_Quite frankly, people who call Tony Stark a philanthropist need a reality check, asap. He talks big but a real philanthropist doesn’t manipulate his good deeds so that they line his own pockets._

*

Returning to the Avengers is less like slipping into an old familiar skin as Bruce anticipated. Maybe it is the different location, maybe the new additions to the team, but it takes him a few days to find his way again. 

At the start of week two, however, at least his morning routine has returned to normal. 

“Coffeeeeee,” is Tony’s way of greeting, the groan turning into a moan when Bruce nods towards the pot he started when he entered the kitchen. The engineer is dressed in workshop clothes, which means he either never went to bed or slipped out of Steve’s grasp at some point in the morning. Tony’s bed head points to the latter. 

Bruce definitely did not, as Pietro would say, see that coming. He had noticed Tony’s different demeanor when the man caught Bruce up on some of the research he missed in the last months and when they spent time in the labs, though actually connecting the change in Tony’s mood to Steve was a more gradual process. 

“I got no clue what he sees in me,” Tony mumbled when Bruce managed to rope the man into an actual conversation on feelings. “But I’m gonna do my best to make this last.”

“You’re good for each other,” Bruce said, hugging his friend to underscore how serious he was. Captain America has always been a great tactician, yet Steve Rogers has grown into a great team leader since Sokovia. Bruce sometimes wonders whether Ultron would have had a more difficult time tearing the team apart if they had had more bonding activities like now. “Don’t overthink it, okay?”

Back in the present, Tony downs his second cup of coffee as Natasha enters, ambling over to the kitchen island where Bruce is working through recent scientific publications on his tablet. 

“Watcha reading, stranger?” she says, leaning across the counter to get a look at the screen. 

“A paper on enzyme assays for synthesis and degradation of 2-5As and other 2’-5’ oligonucleotides,” Bruce replies with a smile, glad to see Natasha grinning back. 

On his first day back she told him she might need to keep her distance for a bit, and Bruce was grateful that the suggestion came from her, that she is trusting him enough to actually tell him what she needs. Apparently the hiatus is over now – hopefully they will manage to rebuild a relationship as colleagues, maybe even as friends. 

“Huh. This is not as awkward as I expected it to be,” Tony says, shifting their attention towards where he is mainlining caffeine. 

“Contrary to some people,” Nat quips without missing a beat, “we’re mature and responsible adults.”

At which Tony scoffs, then Bruce offers him some figurative ice for the verbal burn, effectively chasing Tony off while Bruce gets started on breakfast. He has slipped back into his old role as morning cook since he has both the ability and time – he is the only one apart from Tony without a morning exercise regiment, and there is no way any responsible adult would allow Tony into the kitchen. Besides, Bruce likes the feeling of contributing something that doesn’t involve the Other Guy. 

“You got plans this afternoon while Clint’s showing off at the range?” Nat suddenly asks, closing the fridge after retrieving some juice. 

“I’ll be in the lab, so I can make time. Why?”

“Steve’s been pestering Barnes about shopping for clothes here, but I think he might be more comfortable with you accompanying him.”

“Oh. SHIELD finally gave him his official papers and credit card? Steve know yet?”

Nat shakes her head, the hint of a grimace flickering across her features. “When our resident icicle finds out, there’ll be no stopping him.”

“I’ll talk to Bucky.”

And he does, seizing the moments before Monday’s start-of-the-week team meeting to suggest a trip to the shops at the facility to christen Bucky’s very own credit card and get him some clothes that are neither SHIELD wear nor sport the SI logo. Bucky agrees tentatively and only after Bruce suggests they take Pietro with them as well. That, of course, means Wanda tags along, pouncing on the opportunity to dress up her brother. 

“We don’t even have to leave the compound,” Bruce promises as they’re making their way towards the nearest elevator. “There are some shops here. If you want to get a bit more adventurous, there is a small town a few miles south from here.”

“Here’s fine,” Bucky grumbles, his back rigid. Bruce understands it well. 

“You know, it took me three months after the incident before I was able to browse at a store again. I rushed through it in the hopes of avoiding as much contact with innocent bystanders as possible. Caused quite a few mispurchases, I can tell you.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” 

Bucky’s tone is as tense as his body language, stays that way until halfway through the first of three stores before Pietro and Wanda’s enthusiasm is strong enough to infect even the Winter Soldier. The twins are happily trying on item after item, piling the ones they are going to buy up on a chair. Bruce remembers the first few weeks after Tony handed him his SI credit card fondly – he ended up buying more books than even Cap would be able to carry at once. All for research, of course, because JARVIS and now J.J. has a very large ebook library for his more frivolous literary urges. Besides, he likes the idea of having savings. 

The clerks are leaving them to it, thankfully, and slowly but surely, Bucky is able to dial back on the vigilance and actually look at the clothes Bruce is suggesting. 

“This was easer in the thirties,” Bucky grouses, squinting at two pairs of pants that look completely identical. Bruce has never quite mastered Tony’s level of expertise when it comes to clothing despite the engineer’s hardest efforts (Bruce and tailors is not a good combination; they learnt that the hard way). “Less fabrics, easier rules.”

“Well, what did you like back then?”

Bucky rubs the back of his neck, placing one pair back to the stands. “I wore what was expected.”

Oh, right – Bucky’s family was rather well off. Bruce remembers the soldier telling Pietro and him about growing up in the lower upper class inside one of their safer hiding spots somewhere in Asia. 

Bruce almost asks Bucky what he liked before they met, only to bite his tongue at the last moment because the answer would be “Hydra garb”, and Bruce is trying to revive Bucky’s relationship with clothes, not make him draw in on himself again. 

“Just try them,” is what Bruce suggests in the end. “It’s okay to not know.”

Bucky glances at him, expression pinched, though it smoothes over after a moment, even morphs into a tentative smile. “Then bring it on, doc.”

As they discover over the course of two hours, Bucky Barnes prefers jeans and cargo pants to any other kind of trousers, hoodies with zippers to hoodies without them, and muted colors to bright ones. Everything Bucky purchases is utility-oriented, though, with enough space to fit his arm and a selection of knives, so Bruce tries to steer him towards something more frivolous. 

His mission fails until the very last shop where Bucky’s eyes land on a display with Avengers t-shirts and he barks out a laugh, picking up one without hesitation for the first time since they began shopping. 

“I remember when the original came out!” Bucky jeers and flips the garment to show the print he is referring to – a vintage Captain America recruitment poster. “Steve know about these?” he adds with a smirk. 

“He will if you wear it tonight,” Bruce suggests, watching as Bucky processes the thought, grabs the price tag, and sighs, his shoulders slumping. “What? That steep?”

Bucky nods. 

“I didn’t know you were saving up for something.”

“What do ya mean?” 

“You get a monthly salary, Bucky, without having to pay rent or utilities. What are you going to spend it on, if not something you’ll enjoy?”

It obviously hits a nerve, for Bucky withdraws immediately, jaw setting and eyes dulling. Bruce wreaks his brain in an attempt to find out where the problem lies, yet in the end it is Pietro who appears next to them, an explanation on his lips. 

“It is the first time he has money of his own that he did not steal, Bruce. You should, how do Americans put it? Cut him some slack?”

Bruce resists the urge to hit his head on the nearest shelf. 

“You’re not having a problem with it, punk,” Bucky snaps, stepping away from the display as Pietro turns his palms outward with a wry grin. 

“I am simply faster than you, old man. Now try on that shirt. I think I will need one as well. We can team up on the Captain.”

“Gang up, Pietro,” Bruce corrects with a chuckle, and something warm unfurls in his chest as Bucky follows the kid to the cubicles after Pietro’s dismissive “Yes, whatever”.

He more senses than hears Wanda step up to him, her eyes undoubtedly on Pietro who is cajoling Bucky into changing faster. “Thank you for inviting us along. I have been pressing him all week to venture out of the team areas.”

“Well, I guess they don’t want to make me mad.”

Wanda snorts at that, a soft look in her eyes. “Of course.”

She doesn’t say more, yet they both know it’s more than that. Bruce takes a moment to appreciate the camaraderie that has developed between the Witch and him, facilitated by Pietro and his close relationship. She even apologized for warping his mind. 

In the end, Bucky does buy the t-shirt with the poster, along with an additional hoodie in a vibrant green that he admits he does not actually need, and Bruce feels strangely accomplished once they return to the communal floor.

When Steve catches sight of the t-shirt that night at dinner, he instantly blushes a bright red. Tony laughs so hard that he falls from his stool and as Bruce catches Bucky’s eyes, there is a mirthful glint to them. 

The soldier inclines his head and Bruce chuckles into his tea. 

*

In the wake of a recon mission turned full out fight against the crew of an AIM cell in Taiwan, Steve finds out something he might have preferred to live without knowing. Namely that what Tony dubbed “Thank The Gods We Didn’t Die Sex” is amazing. 

“Sorry; can’t have it without the actual almost dying part, Cap,” Tony points out when Steve complains he could have done without Tony being shot down while in pursuit of a fella whom they think was Ulysses Klaue. 

Tony is standing at a drawer, his back to Steve and only clad in his underwear, which allows Steve for a last few moments of appreciating the lines of Tony’s body before the man inevitably covers them with a nightshirt. 

Or he would have on every single previous instance. Today he crumples the fabric and throws it back into the drawer, slipping back into bed without commenting on it. 

Picking up on Tony’s need to not make a big deal out of this, Steve simply shuffles closer, draping one arm across Tony’s now bare stomach. His fingers trace nondescript patterns into his lover’s skin until they come across a miniscule unevenness at the bottom of his ribcage. 

“What’s that?” Steve wonders, because apparently Steve’s brain is an inept filter after mind-blowing sex. 

Thankfully, Tony barks out a laugh when he twists to get a better look at what Steve is referring to. “Oh, nothing; I fell on a screwdriver.”

There are so many things wrong with that statement that Steve does not even know where to start. 

“Don’t look like that, Cap! I was sixteen, okay? Showing off in my lab at MIT to some co-ed, you know how it goes…” Steve doesn’t, but Tony is still talking. “Didn’t even hurt that much, just bled like a son of a bitch. Good thing the girl was a med student and knew how to suture…”

“You mean you didn’t tell anyone?” Steve isn’t sure why he is even surprised. After all, adult Tony hid a severe case of Palladium poisoning from his closest friends for weeks. 

“That’s rich coming from you, Captain ‘It’s Just A Scratch’ Rogers.”

“It was just a scratch.”

“That bruised. Heavily.”

“It’s already healed, see?” Steve stresses, shifting onto his front to show Tony how unmarred his lower back is once again after an AIM thug landed an impressive blow. He can sense that his skin is still healing where the butt of the rifle nicked him hard enough to tear, but that is beside the point. 

“Hmmm,” is all Tony says in that tone that never fails to make Steve blush. 

He must have fallen asleep after that, for when he opens his eyes again it is hours later. The clock reads 3.30 AM and Tony is breathing evenly on the mattress next to him while Steve’s heart is racing. He cannot put his finger on what his brain fed him during sleep, but it leaves him agitated and wide-awake. 

It is by no means the first time he wound up in the gym in the middle of the night, yet it is the first time he has to slip out of a bed that has Tony in it. He leaves a brief note, just in case the engineer wakes up, then slips into sweatpants and a tee. 

When he reaches the Avenger gym, however, the room is by no means empty. 

“Good morning?” Steve says, taken by surprise when he sees Bucky and Pietro engaged in some form of playing tag in which Pietro seems to be trying different moves to take down the Winter Soldier. Bruce is nestled against the wall and the window in the nearest corner, reading something on a tablet.

“I doubt this qualifies as morning, punk,” Bucky says, his tone teasing but his body language tense. 

Steve dismisses the argument with a wave of his hand. “In my world it doesn’t. What’re you doing?”

“Trying to get it into the kid’s head that speed ain’t everything,” Bucky grouses at the blur circling him. When Pietro attacks next, Bucky blocks him with his metal arm. “Again.”

“He managed to take me down in no time,” Steve muses, thinking back to the past weeks’ training sessions. “Maybe you’re too familiar with his fighting style.”

“Yes, listen to the Captain,” Pietro agrees, coming to a stop next to Steve who does a double take when he notices the pair of new sneakers the kid is wearing. “Oh, these? These babies will get me tickets to the Star Wars premiere.”

Steve blinks down at them. A lot has changed with footwear during his time in the ice, but he doubts they have developed superpowers like that. “I think you’ll need to run that by me again, Pietro.”

“They are from Tony,” the kid explains, and Steve ignores the way his breath hitches at the mere mention of his partner. “He says he designed them for endurance and that I would not wear them out for at least two weeks. I don’t believe him.”

“And you bet on it,” Steve fills in the blanks, lips curling into a smile. He overheard Bucky and Pietro arguing over science fiction novels last week, so Pietro’s affinity for Star Wars comes as no surprise. 

“Yeah, Stevie, your boyfriend’s adorable, now you joining in or going back to bed?”

There is no heat behind Bucky’s growl, but Steve steps up to the mats nonetheless. He can’t hold back the knowing grin, though – while Bucky and Tony haven’t exactly become friends in the past two weeks, they have reached a level of peaceful co-existence that warms Steve’s heart with hope. 

“You here often?” he finally ventures during a break, swiping his forehead with his towel. Bucky’s shoulders immediately draw inward and Steve curses mentally. 

It is Pietro who comes to his rescue with a nonchalant shrug. “Bruce usually falls asleep on his computer after an hour. Sometimes Natasha is in the smaller gym. Clint joins us, when he is not on the roof. This old man here,” he shoves Bucky playfully, “is mostly here before I am.”

Steve isn’t surprised at all, by neither tidbit of information actually, not after getting to know each Avenger’s penchant for insomnia during they time they were making camp at the tower and chasing Hydra across the globe. Yet that doesn’t mean he doesn’t shoot his friend a worried glance, who shakes a stray lock of hair out of his face and meets his eyes defiantly. 

“What can I say, I’m still adjusting to the new digs, Stevie. What’s keepin’ you up anyway?”

Steve leaps at the change of topic. They talked about this; Bucky is still on Raiding Party Time after years of little sleep during missions as Hydra’s primary asset. Bruce has theorized that his body might never grow accustomed to a ‘normal’ sleep schedule. 

“Feeling restless. Mission was a bust.”

“I heard,” Bucky says, but his tone has an angry tinge. “I also heard you’re playing Hide The Injury again. Thought you’d’ve grown outta that by now, punk.”

“It was –”

“If the next word outta your mouth is ‘nothing’, Rogers, I swear I’ll lock you inside the quinjet on our first joint mission.”

Steve bites his tongue. He knows Bucky is dead serious because one day in ’35 he did a similar thing after Steve had upset some brainless bully who happened to be well connected and out for revenge. The days were cold and his mother was constantly pulling overtime and barely home for anything but sleep, so staying at the Barnes’ residence wasn’t too bad, if he’s being honest. 

The tension in the air is broken by a bout of laughter and they all spin around to where Bruce is holding his side, almost doubled over from trying to keep his reaction quiet.

“Sorry, but just – that mental image,” he says, grinning at them like he did after taking a peak at Dr. Cho’s current research. And then Pietro chuckles and Bucky’s eyes finally soften enough that Steve feels save to join into the laughter because Bruce has a point.

“Come on, let’s go another round,” Bucky eventually announces, and Steve shits into a fighting stance. 

*

_**23rd January, 2015 – Veteran Rehabilitation Center, Staten Island, New York** _

Carol shifts her weight from one leg to the other, noting how the forefoot of the prosthetics picks up on each subtle movement and adjust accordingly. 

Underneath a pair of dress pants and with shoes on, no one is going to notice that her own feet end several inches above the knee, the rest replaced with synthetic prostheses. Heck, she could even dance – if she had ever been one to do so. 

Maybe she should pick it up? Seeing as missing a few limbs is detrimental to her career in the Air Force, she is going to need a new hobby eventually. 

A knock on the door makes her freeze but it’s only Dr. Helen Cho. “Lt. Colonel Danvers?”

“Please, come in.”

The doctor smiles as she sees Carol wearing only shorts which make her prosthetics blatantly obvious. It was her therapist’s idea, to walk around her room like this so she can grow accustomed to the sight. 

“How are you faring today?”

“Better,” Carol admits. Dr. Cho was there two weeks ago after the procedure that fused her own nerve endings to the sockets using artificial cells and cutting edge technology. The physician had to fly back to New York, however, promising to return to Staten Island for a check-up two weeks later. 

Dr. Cho runs her through a few examinations, then asks her to dress and follow her. 

“You have a visitor,” is all the woman says and Carol stays alert until they reach a small conference room on the administrative floor of the treatment center. 

Her heart sinks while she salutes on autopilot. General Welsh is inside the room, standing near the window with his hands clasped behind his back. A file is lying upside down on the table. 

“General.”

“At ease, Lt. Colonel Danvers.” She complies even though it does nothing to alleviate the tension in her shoulders. “Dr. Cho said your recovery is going well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You seem to have made a habit of being a first, Lt. Colonel.”

Carol nods, swallowing down a surge of irritation. Being the first woman admitted to the CCT does not help when she cannot physically serve anymore. 

“Prototype prosthetics,” Welsh continues, on the surface oblivious to her turmoil yet his eyes are sharp. “If your body accepts the artificial cells and all goes well, we will make this available to more soldiers. And yet,” he adds, his gaze suddenly calculating, “you do not look very happy.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“You're going to hand me my discharge papers. It’s hard to be happy about that.”

To her surprise the General’s lips curl into a smile. “Those are not your discharge papers, Lt. Colonel. This is your next mission, if you choose to accept.”

Despite years of training, Carol cannot hide her confusion. “Mission? But... I'm not fit for active duty anymore.” 

“Not in the field, no.”

All hope she had dies in the blink of an eye. “I'm not made for paperwork, sir.” 

Yet the man is still smiling. “The mission isn't paperwork either.”

He slides the file across the table and Carol picks it up, her artificial feet moving as her brain commands them to underneath the fabric of her pants. She turns the folder around, narrows her eyes at the masthead, then quickly flips it open to read. What she finds only makes her confusion mount. 

“What about Colonel Throyd?” 

“He is going to spend as much time as he can with his dying wife. We need someone long term as his replacement.”

“And you chose me?” 

“You're one of the best combat controllers we got. You're great under pressure and have proven that you’re able to adapt to anything. You were willing to die to save your fellow soldiers. I need someone like that to handle the Avengers.”

Carol cannot remember the last time she was speechless. All right, that’s a lie – it was immediately after she woke up in a medical tent and saw that both her legs are missing. 

Still. Speechlessness is not something she makes a habit of. 

“You can, of course, decline,” Welsh goes on when she does not react verbally. “Then I'll gladly sign your honorable discharge and pin a medal on you, and you can reinvent yourself. Find a teaching job, do some consultancy work… Or you can move to New York.”

She swallows around the lump that is constricting her throat. “What would the job entail, exactly?”

“You would be the primary liaison for the US military to the Avengers Initiative as well as to SHIELD on US territory. The Army and the Navy will both send someone to help, but you are our first line. That means you coordinate their efforts with ours if they overlap, make sure they stay within certain limits and don't go off without keeping us in the loop. You'll be a glorified kindergarten teacher half the time if Throyd’s reports are anything to go by, but the other half you will be the most valuable LO we've got.” 

“If I accept, I’ll remain on active duty?”

“Yes.”

It is more than Carol ever dared hope for after the reality of her situation dawned on her. While speculation is high that, should the new prosthetic technology work, wounded soldiers will one day be able to return to the field after accidents like hers, it was all still just a pie in the sky so far. 

And really, how bad could the Avengers be? Carol once took out an Al-Qaeda patrol of seven highly trained men with nothing more than her M4 and a knife she took of the first body. There is no doubt she can handle whatever the superheroes come up with. Besides – her aunt lives in Manhattan. 

“I accept, sir. Thank you for this opportunity.”

Welsh smiles as if he never thought she would decide differently. “You’re welcome. You start in two weeks, so step up your game in PT, understood?”

*

Carol does, pushing herself harder than she did during technical training. Having a mission waiting for her gives her something to work towards, helps her finally accept her situation. 

At precisely 1600 hours on February 1st, in her dress blues with the still unfamiliar silver eagle indicating her new rank, and with her wild blonde hair tamed into a bun, Carol meets Maria Hill at the main entrance to the New Avengers Facility. 

“Colonel.”

“Deputy Director,” Carol replies, shaking the proffered hand instead of saluting. 

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,” Hill says. “I hope you know what you signed on for.”

Carol does not react other than give Hill another nod, which seems to satisfy the woman. 

“Let me show you around, Colonel.”

Carol has studied the blueprints she was supplied with on request and can easily match the actual locations to the lines on paper. Hill leads her through the administrative complex and to her new office, shows her the barracks (which practically equal five-star accommodation compared to some places Carol has slept), indicates the communal areas both for agents and for the Avengers. What really impresses her, however, are the training facilities – shooting ranges, obstacle parcours, state-of-the-art gyms and swimming pools… 

“This is what happens when Stark is left to his own devices,” is Hill’s explanation for the facility’s extent. Then her eyes take on a mirthful glint. “You want to meet the gang?”

“With pleasure. Where are they?”

“Training, but outdoors. We’ll take a cart.”

By ‘cart’ Hill is referring to a small vehicle not unlike a golf cart which takes them up a slightly uneven path past large snow-covered fields, coming to a stop at… 

“Is that a fence?” Carol asks, approaching the pulsating red railings warily. 

“Yes. That’s the latest of Stark’s innovations. He’s been experimenting with combining Wanda’s telekinetic energy and technology since November.”

“And that works?”

“This isn’t Hogwarts, Colonel,” Hill tells her with a chuckle. “So far he has designed protective bubbles that can shield the carrier against most known weapons once activated. The duration is limited, but it’s a promising start. The prototypes belong to Barton’s children but Stark will present them to the military soon.”

“And this fence?”

Hill allows her lips to twist into a smirk. “You’ll see.”

They enter the fenced off area with a quick swipe of Hill’s badge and soon Carol hears exactly why the fence is operating. She has only ever heard the Hulk roar on television or on footage her fellow soldiers showed to her, so it takes a second to match sound and Avenger. 

The Hulk is more impressive in person than on paper, even from several hundred yards away. He seems to be forming a fraction with Wanda and fighting against a team of Captain America, Black Widow, the Winter Soldier, Quicksilver and maybe even Hawkeye but Carol hasn’t glimpsed him in either of the nearby trees or elsewhere. 

The other airborne teammates are pitted against Vision as far as Carol can tell. The artificial intelligence is incredibly fast and able to change its body’s viscosity, allowing Falcon’s gloved hands slip and lose their grip before the assailant is able to cause any harm. 

It is more than impressive to watch, noting how well oiled the team already appears despite some glitches. Especially the Winter Soldier, Widow, Rogers and Quicksilver appear as one, even though Widow still seems to keep clear of her colleague with the metal arm. Barnes and Rogers, however, are an amazing team; there is no other word for it. The shield passes between them seamlessly, used to catapult either of them or Widow or Quicksilver into the air to attack Scarlet Witch or the Hulk. 

While Carol watches, Rogers bellows an order and alliances shift – every airborne Avengers against the rest. An arrow almost hits Wanda who deflects it at the very last second, then gives chase to Hawkeye who jumps from the tree he has been hiding in and is whisked away immediately in a blur of movement, reappearing underneath Falcon and already firing another arrow. 

How Captain Rogers manages to keep track of everything going on around him, Carol cannot fathom. But he must, or else he wouldn’t be able to bark out orders, directing his team so effectively that Barnes eventually takes down War Machine, prompting Iron Man to aim his repulsors at him. Rogers’ shields flies into his path, reflecting the beam back at Iron Man who only barely evades it. 

The following exchange between Stark and Captain America is swift and complex and only ends when Rogers manages to knock Iron Man out of the sky with the coordinated effort of one of Hawkeye’s exploding arrows, Barnes’ distraction and a well-aimed blow with the shield. 

Rogers backflips off the armor before Stark careens to the ground, landing on his feet and burying his shield in the snow within hearing distance of Hill and Carol. 

“You must be Colonel Danvers. Steve Rogers, at your service,” he says once he has straightened and saluted. 

“At ease, Captain,” Carol tells him, and she would be lying if she said having Captain America salute her is not increasing her ego tenfold. 

“How come you never salute me like that?” comes a teasing drawl shortly before War Machine’s faceplate opens to reveal Colonel James Rhodes. “I hold the same rank!”

“Yeah, or me!” Iron Man interrupts, landing between Rhodes and Rogers. Then he tilts his head. “Oh wait, you already do!”

For some reason the comment makes a faint blush color Rogers’ cheeks. 

“Ignore them,” Black Widow cuts in, suddenly next to Carol without her ever having noticed her approach. “Too much adrenaline turns them into five-year-olds on a sugar rush.”

“Yeah, let’s give everyone time to cool down,” Rogers decides. “Why don’t we all reconvene for dinner in an hour? If that suits your schedule?”

The last question is directed at her. Carol nods, endeavoring to make eye contact with every approaching Avengers. Only the Winter Soldier is still nowhere near them. Carol can see him in the distance with Hulk, raising his good arm. 

“An hour?” Stark scoffs, faceplate flipping open. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to take the armor off?”

“Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds if you use the maintenance entrance,” Rogers immediately shoots back. “Plenty of time for plenty other things.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Stark grumbles and flies off. 

“You’re gonna let him wait, aren’t you?” Widow wonders with a small smile. 

The Captain’s grin is unabashed. “He knows me well enough to know I’ll be accompanying the Colonel back to the base. It’s only polite.”

Carol watches, amused, as the rest of the team disbands, the Falcon carrying Widow, War Machine giving Hawkeye a lift and Vision and Wanda waiting for Barnes and someone who already looks much more like Banner than Hulk. Quicksilver is nowhere to be seen, so Carol supposes he is already at the facility. 

“So tell me, Colonel, what did you think of the training session?” Rogers asks, sounding genuinely curious and Carol launches into her analysis. 

*

Tony spends the half hour he is waiting for Steve to join him in his suite by looking up all J.J. was able to find on Carol Danvers. 

Born in Boston to a multi-generation family of army men, Danvers started off with AFROTC in High School, then studied meteorology, aerospace engineering and several languages at college and signed up for the Air Force immediately after graduation. And that irks Tony a bit, see, ‘cos both her father and grandfather were in the _Navy_. Maybe Carol, as a daughter, knew she’d never be able to fill the footsteps her male ancestors left? 

She made a name for herself, though, and was the first woman to ever become a combat controller. Tony is exhausted just reading about the physical entry tests, jeez. That Danvers has to be quite the tough nut, and either really brave or really stupid ‘cos in last December she risked her life to get three of her team out of a trap. She lost her legs and the men she saved pulled her out of the wreckage and managed to call in air support. 

Dr. Cho accepted Danvers as a candidate for her (and Star Industries’) lower limb prosthetics test run as soon as she heard of the incident. Tony grins at his tablet – looking at the Colonel you wouldn’t believe her legs are not all there. Stark tech proves once again how awesome it is. Okay, and Helen’s work is brilliant and unparalleled, yeah, yeah, yeah… 

“Sir, Captain Rogers has just entered the premises.”

“About time!” Tony jumps up, paces a little, then gives up on that and switches the TV on, zapping through the channels for a bit until CNN fills the screen. Tony squints when he understands what the segment is about. 

“J.J., why haven’t I heard of this before now?”

“Details on the proposed bills have featured in your weekly briefs from SHIELD rather heavily, sir.”

“You sassing me, J?”

“I would never dream of it, sir,”

Tony chuckles, pulling up the latest (and still unread) brief SHIELD keeps sending him. “Alright, gimme the cliff notes, J.”

“The bill was conceived by lawyer Mrs. Susan Pearson. She is one of the survivors who were in the school’s gymnasium during Nitro’s attack. She lost both her sons and her daughter. Her husband, Harvey Pearson, is a lobbyist for the pharmaceutical multinational SanaVida who also provide tests for the X genes. Together with her husband and the Senators of Nebraska, Mrs. Pearson conceived the Superhuman Registration Act. She states that a public index for non-humans would have exposed Nitro as what he is, thus enabling the school to take appropriate measures that would have prevented the catastrophe. The bill further requires all registered superhumans to submit to government training.”

“Hm.” Tony blinks at tablet screen. _Not a bad idea, actually._ “J.J., keep tabs on that bill and keep me up to date on any developments.”

“Yes, sir.”

As if on cue, Steve finally appears, smirking when Tony welcomes him with a scowl that’s decidedly fake. 

“You realize,” Tony says as way of greeting, “that you could have ordered to reconvene in ninety minutes. Or two hours. You know, with you being Cap and all. Then we might’ve had time for a little post-training action.”

Steve, only in his under armor all delicious and sweaty (it’s manly and Tony loves it, okay), has crowded into Tony’s space in the course of his monologue and is looking much too smug for his liking. 

“We’ll just have to be quick, then.” 

“You haven’t even showered!”

“I guess you’ll just have to join me.”

“I swear, Rogers, I liked you better when you were a blushing virgin.”

Steve merely raises an eyebrow that screams ‘Oh, really?’ ‘cos yeah, Tony really does _love_ it when Steve is all forward and direct, or even unapologetically horny. 

And seriously, who can blame him? Sex with Steve is the best thing since coffee and electricity. It’s addictive, to the point that Tony is spending most of his time upstate since the UN decision, only dragging himself back to Manhattan when there’s something he just can’t do in the workshop here. Pepper finds this hilarious. Rhodey is happy for him and enjoys how much quality bro time they get to spend with each other now. Even Bruce seems glad, albeit a little melancholy given his own lack of romantic life. 

It’s a good thing for team building as well ‘cos this way Tony can train extensively with the others and join them for team dinner or movie night. He’s even on the roster now!

He sleeps better, too. Drinks less. Not that he misses it. 

Or notices. That would mean he has a problem, which he doesn’t. 

Anyway, less nightmares, more dates with Steve all around the facility and sometimes in the city, regular and amazing sexy times… Tony has no idea what he did to deserve this turn of events, but he’s gonna enjoy the freaking hell out of every single minute of it for as long as it lasts. 

So he closes the gap between his and Steve's bodies, briefly wondering why the man’s frowning at the TV before his brain gets with the program and redirects the blood flow to his groin. 

“Let’s go,” he urges, winding his hands around Steve’s hips to grab his ass until the other man starts moving towards the bathroom. 

They have to be quick, but that’s fine – Tony already showered as soon as he came back which leaves only Steve who quickly covers his body in soap while Tony drinks in the sight of rippling muscles and wet skin. 

“Want me to wash your back?” Tony can’t help but quip. 

Steve throws the soap at him, some overpriced organic recycled crap the staff always supplies them with, but this one’s scent is actually not so bad. Tony catches it (ha!) and goes to work on Steve’s back, rubbing circles into the skin and working out a few kinks here and there until his erection is pressing against Steve’s ass in a maddening slide of water and friction. 

Suddenly Steve turns around, takes the soap out of Tony’s hand, puts it back where it belongs, and then shuffles closer. In their current position the wide spray of the shower hits them from the side and supplies enough water that there’s no need for any other lubricant when Steve wraps a large hand around both of their erections. 

“One day soon I want you to do me,” Steve whispers into Tony’s ear as he sets a ruthless pace that has Tony grip Steve’s shoulders for support since his knees don’t really seem up to the job anymore. 

“Huh?” Tony is a real smooth one today… 

“You look so happy when I’m fucking you,” Steve clarifies, and shit, Captain America talking dirty while he’s jacking both their cocks in a vice-like grip should be classified as a weapon, _gawd_ … “It got me wondering… and I wanna try.”

“Yeah?” Tony licks his lips, meeting Steve’s blue eyes across the jet of water. “Want me to open you up, make you writhe, pound you into the mattress until you forget your own name?” 

Steve’s erection twitches against Tony’s, which he takes as encouragement so he continues, imagining how he’d prep Steve and stimulate his prostate and get him to come on his fingers alone and keep stretching him until he gets hard one more time and only then enter him… By the time Tony is done expanding on the phantasy he can only bury his head in the nape of Steve’s wet neck and spill all over Steve’s fist and cock. 

Steve follows soon after and for a moment they just stand there, holding each other as the aftershocks subside. Steve leans in for a kiss and Tony would give all his riches if he could just stay here, exactly like this, for the rest of all eternity. 

But as Steve says, regret evident in his voice, “Duty calls.” 

So Tony opens his eyes reluctantly and switches the shower off, his thoughts already consumed by what tonight will bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nghhh.
> 
> I admit that Tony having already forgiven Bucky for his parents’ death is a bit of a cop-out but it felt right for me, especially with what Bruce did under Wanda’s spell on the table as well.
> 
> For those interested, [this](http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0009912015003926%20) is the article Bruce reads. And I hope you liked this ‘verse’s version of Carol? 
> 
> Next up: FEELINGS (chapter title is “The L word”… just sayin’…)


	5. The L-word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Rhodey is hard, guys. I hope I didn’t screw it up… 
> 
> Also, thanks to scooch who pointed out in the comments to ch4 that Carol going from Major to Colonel, thus bypassing Lt. Colonel entirely, makes less sense than I'd hoped. So now she goes from Lt. Colonel to Colonel in the previous chapter.

“Do you mind if I join you, Colonel?”

It is only her third day at the facility, but Carol has always been good with voices, faces, and names so there is no need to turn around. She does anyway, after burying her artificial knee in the dummy that stands in for an enemy soldier. 

“Not at all, Colonel,” she says, waving at the free space between her and the wall that is lined with more grappling dummies. 

James Rhodes nods, dragging one to a point a safe distance away from her. 

They are in a side room of the Avengers gym, filled with sandbags, speedballs, wall targets, matts, and even a boxing ring. Carol has not ventured into the big gym yet despite Captain Roger’s invitation to do so. The Avengers have been very welcoming though decidedly weary, so she has only scratched the surface of her new wards. Carol also hasn’t been back on a training regime that extends beyond physiotherapy for long, which adds a layer of unease. 

Rhodes and she trade glances for the next fifteen or so minutes, a grin whenever one of them stumbles or screws up a punch, or an impressed inclination of the head in case something works particularly well. 

“Would you like to try on a life model, Colonel?” Rhodes asks eventually, drawing Carol’s attention. 

The man has worked up a light sweat, his blue work out tee starting to stick to his skin even as he gestures with his taped up hands. 

“I haven’t done that on my prosthetics yet,” Carol admits after a second, though Rhodes only grins. 

“I promise I’ll go easy on you,” he teases with a twinkle in his eye and just like that Carol can feel her sense of pride stirring. She has never backed down from a challenge, after all. 

Of course her endurance levels aren’t the same anymore; even without exerting herself on a grappling dummy she tires quickly at the moment, yet the doctors assure her that it is completely normal. It still frustrates her to no end when her limbs grow heavier the longer she is sparring with Rhodes who shows no sign of exhaustion, muscles shifting with ease. 

He does not ask if she needs a break, however. She recalls Rhodes’ service record mentioning a few minor to more severe injuries that presumably put him out of commission for a bit, so she fathoms that he knows exactly what it feels like to lag behind previous endurance levels. 

When even her pride tells her to stop, Carol holds up her hands in surrender. “I think I need a minute,” she pants, failing to keep her voice steady. 

Rhodes’s lips twist knowingly. “Take all the time you need.”

Carol sinks onto the nearest bench with a sigh. Her feet are feeling weird again; they always do after too much exercise. It’s hard to explain – on the one hand her brain seems to know that her legs are gone, on the other there are artificial cells that share her very DNA connecting the stumps with the bionic knees, calves and feet. Most of the time that’s fine; other times not so much. By the feel of it extensive exercise causes the latter. 

“Your legs bothering you?”

Carol glances up to where Rhodes is standing in front of her, chest heaving and a sheen of sweat covering his skin. She must have been massaging the spot between real and artificial legs for quite a while. 

“Some days more than others.”

“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have noticed anything while we were fighting if I hadn’t already known.”

Carol gives a bitter smile. “I’ll be sure to extend your praise to Dr. Cho.”

“You should give yourself more credit, Colonel.”

“How come?”

“It’s you who’s got to make them cooperate; your brain who sends the impulses. Dr. Cho could build the most authentic replica of your legs, but if you don’t learn how to use them and more importantly how to live with them, they’d be useless.”

Carol leans back, pensive. 

“And honestly?” Rhodes continues, lowering his water bottle. “I got no idea how I’d handle your situation. I mean I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff and a lot of injuries, but I’ve always been lucky. I’m not sure I could survive loosing a limb, let alone two, and be back on duty two months later.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly a high risk combat zone, Colonel.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, Danvers. Give us another week or two to really warm up to you and you’ll wish you’d have taken a teaching job.”

“Throyd said something similar, but I honestly don’t get it,” Carol admits. “Yes, Stark and Barton can be a bit juvenile from what I’ve seen, especially with Pietro in the mix, but all in all you’re very civilized.”

Rhodes considers her for a moment, his head tilting a little to the side. “Steve invite you to our gym, right?”

Carol nods. 

“Good, then it won’t be a problem when you join us for dinner tonight.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude –”

“Colonel, I get that you want to be professional, but this isn’t your usual work environment. I think it’s best if you get to know us and we get to know you, so when things get serious you know we’ll have your six just like the other way around.”

Carol takes a moment to mull over the proposition. Maybe Rhodes has a point – if Major Wells has his way then Carol will be doing this job until either retirement or her death, whichever comes first. She might as well make friends with the team in addition to the group of level seven SHIELD agents she has been having lunch with. 

So she nods, reaching out a hand for Rhodes to take and pull her onto her feet, which complain a little when she does but other than that function as Dr. Cho intended them to. 

“I’m Jim, by the way,” Rhodes adds, extending his hand again. 

She only hesitates for a split second before accepting. “Carol.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carol. Why don’t we shower and change and I’ll meet you on your floor at the elevator?”

“Copy that.”

*

Twenty minutes later Jim is indeed waiting at the elevator on Carol’s floor, which is one below most of the Avengers. Hill is her immediate neighbor, but the agent is so busy they haven’t seen each other since she gave Carol the tour on Monday. 

“It’s Wednesday,” the man states, “so that means it’s Steve and Natasha’s turn to cook.”

“You guys cook?”

Jim grins. “That so hard to believe?”

Carol shrugs. “I never really thought much about your eating habits, truth to tell.”

The Colonel laughs, letting her exit the elevator before him, then leads her down the hallway past a few doors until they reach an open-space design that incorporates a luxurious kitchen, a dining room with a spacious table, and a living room with enough seating arrangements for fifteen people and a TV set to match. 

“I brought company,” Jim announces when they reach where Black Widow and Captain America are preparing dinner. 

“Colonel Danvers, what a nice surprise,” Rogers greets her, his tone sincere. Widow smiles as she briefly looks up from mixing a salad dressing. 

“I hope one more won’t cause any problems.”

“What? No,” Stark chimes in, spread out on a sofa several feet away. “They always make way more than enough.”

Rogers gestures in a way that seems to express, ‘what he said’, and Carol goes on to help Jim set the table, noticing a bouquet of flowers on one of the drawers against the wall. The flowers aren’t real but made of what appears to be scraps of metal and wire, yet there is no card or any other means of identifying whom they are for. It is rather clear who made them, however. 

“Does Mr. Stark cook, too?” she can’t help but ask, which prompts Jim to bark out a laugh. 

“No! I’ve seen him try; trust me, you do _not_ want that guy anywhere near anything you want to eat later.”

“I resent the way you’re generalizing here, Rhodey,” Stark complains, sitting up but not discarding his tablet. “I make a mean cereal.”

When Carol glances at the others, she finds she is not the only one smiling. 

Dinner, once everyone filters into the room and takes a place at the table, is chaotic. And loud. As an only child and with her father mostly deployed overseas, meals were a quiet affair with Carol’s family. Then in the army it was simply soldiers being soldiers… This is something else entirely. 

At least she is sitting between Jim and Sergeant “Oh no, call me Sam!” Wilson, whose air is still distinctly military, which is nicely soothing. Carol isn’t prone to anxiety, despite the number of nightmares she has been experiencing in the wake of the incident in December, but she does sometimes feel overwhelmed in intense social situations. 

“I swear, man, if you keep hovering around me I’ll sink an arrow into your weak spots,” Barton grouses, aiming a glare at Stark. 

“Oh, so you wanna fall off trees and break your neck? ‘Cos that’s what almost happened yesterday –”

“I had it perfectly under control and you know it!”

“You wobbled! Vision, back me up on this, birdie here totally wobbled!”

“I did detect some imbalance, Clint,” Vision admits apologetically and Clint throws a ripped off piece of napkin in Stark’s direction. 

“See what I meant?” Jim asks from Carol’s right. 

“Starting to,” she chuckles, watching as Stark fends off Barton’s ‘assault’ with his fork. Next to him, Rogers just rolls his eyes and keeps talking to Barnes. 

Carol somehow ends up in the living room on one end of the half-circle formed by various sofas and armchairs, next to Black Widow on a love seat with Jim, Sam and Vision to their left. Banner and Barton are bracketing the Maximoff twins on the four-seater while Rogers and Stark share the other love seat and Barnes occupies the armchair next to them. 

Carol is indulging in a soda, though some of the Avengers are drinking beer. Stark, unsurprisingly, has switched to whiskey after having wine with dinner. Carol’s mind briefly flashes to the note in Stark’s DoD file declaring him a functioning alcoholic. 

After some prompting, Carol volunteers a few of the funnier stories she experienced during active service, and in turn hears about tales of avenging and Hydra chasing. Much of what Quicksilver, Banner and the Winter Soldier did on he other side of the pond is still classified even beyond Carol’s new clearance level, but a few hilarious moments of everyday life in the shadows of Eastern Europe still come to light over the next hour. 

For the first time since waking up without her legs, Carol finds herself genuinely enjoying herself. Jim smiles at her as if he knows what’s going through her head. 

“Come on, dude, just tell her already!” Sam suddenly declares, his eyes on Rogers across the coffee table. “The way you’re making heart eyes at each other’s getting to be unbearable, really, man.”

“Hear, hear!” Barton toasts, raising his beer. 

Some sort of silent conversation occurs between Rogers and Stark, ending with both of them turning towards her. 

“Yes?” Carol asks, shifting in her seat awkwardly.

“Colonel, there is a situation you should be made aware of as our handler. I promise is does not affect our performance as a team; and it is only not common knowledge yet since we do not want to draw too much attention to it before we’re ready,” Rogers explains without really shedding light on anything. 

Carol’s confusion must have shown on her face because Stark laughs. “What Steve’s trying to say is that we’re together.”

Now that startles her. “Romantically?”

Stark’s lips curl into a leer and he winks while Rogers pull his shoulders back. “Yes.”

“Congratulations,” Carol says without even having to think about it. 

“See? Now fucking kiss me already,” Stark orders and Rogers obeys, a soft smile playing about his lips as he leans in. 

That apparently solves the mystery of the flowers. In retrospect, Carol can see it: all the looks, the coordinated movements, the lack of distance between their bodies and how Stark passed Rogers condiments without the latter having to ask for it. They seem content, happy even, now huddled impossibly close on the love seat across from her. When she glances at Jim she can see the apprehension in his eyes recede. It makes sense – Rhodes is Stark’s best friend; if Carol had a problem with the fraternizing, Jim surely would have come to his friend’s defense. 

There is no need for it, however. Carol values rules and the structure they give one’s life, yet questions of the heart rarely follow such narrow lines. If the two superheroes care for each other and it doesn’t impede the group’s effectiveness, why shouldn’t they be together? 

When Carol glances up again she catches Wanda looking at her. Their eyes meet and the Enhanced inclines her head, which is the first direct contact Carol has had with this particular Avenger.

Phantom pain aside, the evening really was a win, Carol decides. 

*

Consciousness comes gradually, just a hint of awareness tugging at Steve’s mind at first. He basks in the comfort – much too often he just blinks awake, immediately alert. The fact that he gets to drift in that nice place between sleep and wakefulness is a testament to how safe he feels, here in Tony’s bed at the facility. 

He is lying on his stomach hugging a pillow, his body angled towards the center of the mattress. When he opens his eyes they reveal Tony, glaring at the tablet in his lap as if it personally offended him. 

“What are you frowning about?” Steve mumbles. Judging by the dim artificial light in the room it can’t be morning yet. 

Tony spares him a quick smile, then his face falls again immediately. “Oh, Mike’s been bugging me about the specifics of my keynote speech at the Launch Fair.”

It’s still three weeks off, but Steve knows just how much pre-production goes into things like that. 

“And? What’s tripping you up?” 

Tony shakes his head minutely. “It’s complicated.”

Steve rolls onto his back and props himself up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony heaves a sigh, discarding the tablet carelessly onto his nightstand, and rubs his hands across his face for a moment before staring at something near his feet. His upper body is bare, scars faint lines on his skin. It took Tony a while to work up the nerve of slipping into bed like this, without covering up the marks. 

“It’s… well, people think it’s gonna be like the Expo, never mind that the Launch Fair’s something completely different, but anyway, they think it’ll be like that.” 

Steve’s mind flashes back to the videos he saw from the 2010 Expo in Queens. Back then he took Tony’s performance at face value. Today he knows better. 

“There’s a lot riding on that speech,” Tony continues. “It sets the tone of the entire thing, so whatever I do is gonna influence how people see the rest of the Fair.” 

He sighs again, glances up as if to check if Steve’s still listening, then shifts into a crossed-legged position. 

“Mike and his team think I should make it a spectacle. Be charming, show the world Tony Stark’s still here.”

Something about the wording grates Steve a bit, so he prompts, “But you don’t want that?”

Tony nods slowly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “That’s not… I mean. You saw the videos, right? From 2010?” Steve nods, so Tony goes on. “I was a prick, back then. Thought just ‘cos I had this whole phoenix-from-the-ashes thing going that I was invincible. I was the best, the strongest. Boy, was I wrong. After Vanko, even after Malibu and the Mandarin… I’d learnt humility, but I was still acting like an arrogant dick. That’s not me anymore.”

“So you don’t want scantly clad background dancers?”

The other man groans. “God, no.”

“Then what _do_ you want?” Tony lifts his head and Steve’s chest clenches in sympathy at how torn his partner looks. “Or what are your options?”

Tony swallows, obviously gathering his thoughts. “I could do something flashy, maybe bring Iron Legion. Show that I’m still…” 

_Invincible_ , Steve supplies in his head. Out loud, he says, “Or?” 

“Or I could go for broke.”

Part of the alarmed confusion the statement invokes must be showing on Steve’s face, for Tony chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean I could just… not be Tony Stark.”

“But you are Tony Stark.”

“I’m the _idea_ of Tony Stark, Steve, at least to the public. There’s a difference. That’s all they’ve ever known.”

“I think you lost me somewhere.” Steve tilts his head at the other man, wondering if he hit his head in training these past few days. 

“Yeah, sorry, sometimes I forget you’re not used to handling the press –”

“But I –”

“Not like me, you aren’t,” Tony cuts in. “I’ve been taught how to act with cameras around since I was three, okay? And that’s what it is, an act. A show I put on. Well, at least since Afghanistan, before that I actually was the promiscuous eccentric billionaire that put a bunch o’ wanna-be photographers through college with all the scandals I’ve raked up.”

“So you actually _do_ hate it?”

Tony shrugs in a ‘what can you do?’ kind of way that’s so resigned that Steve wants to retroactively punch every single paparazzi who has ever made Tony’s life hell. 

But Tony is already talking again. “Okay, not ‘hate’ exactly. They’re just there, you know? I’ve never known any different.” He rubs a hand across his face, eyes turning up towards the ceiling. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. I guess it’s just that Mike expects some grand opener and I simply don’t have the energy for that circus anymore. I’d love nothing more than just pull up a chair and explain what StarkVision’s all about.”

Steve waits for the catch but none comes. “So why don’t you?”

Tony barks out a laugh and averts his eyes. “Yeah, right, ‘cos that’ll go over splendidly.”

Steve scoots closer, the movement prompting Tony to meet his gaze again. “What’s the worst that can happen? Why’re you fighting this so hard?”

Tony remains quiet for a long minute, only the sound of his even breathing filling the air. Then he seems to steal himself, though against what Steve can’t fathom. He pulls his shoulders back as he straightens, his legs still crossed. 

“Listen. That act I put on for the paps? It’s also a shield, alright? It means I can compartmentalize when they’re talking shit about me, or calling me a man whore or a head case or make me out to be the bad guy. If I go on stage in three weeks and just pull up a chair and, what, be myself? That’ll all be gone. They’ll be attacking _me_ , not the idea of me, and they’re gonna find something to smear me with, they always do.”

“They’re assholes.”

At least it makes Tony laugh, even though Steve is wishing to punch people again. “You’re not wrong there, Rogers.”

“So you’re going to give them a show? That what you’re saying?”

Steve tries his best to make his voice sound natural, not as if he’s judging Tony, because he’s not. He is judging every single member of the press that made Tony feel like he’s got to hide his true self from the world, though. 

The young Stark blows out a breath and flops down on the mattress, barely hitting the pillow with his head. 

“I’m seriously considering just saying, fuck it. I’ve got my priorities straight, for the first time in, well, ever, and there’s just no room for making a spectacle of myself anymore. I’ve got too much shit to do, and I need to be here for training, and then,” he hesitates, only for a split second, “there’s you.”

Steve smiles at how Tony’s voice softened when saying that. 

“So yeah. Maybe it’s time.”

He falls silent after that, leaving Steve to process the conversation. It’s the first time their talks veered into more serious territory. Well, they’ve talked a bit about Steve’s life pre-Serum, about growing up with a single mom and befriending the rich kid with a penchant for stopping Steve from really getting in over his head, about Europe and the Howling Commandos, and they spend a lot of time talking about Tony’s projects or Steve’s art, but other topics haven’t really come up. Neither of them is prone to sharing, after all, and Steve knows better than to bring up Howard, as much as he sometimes wants to out of curiosity. Tony never mentions him unless he absolutely has to, Steve has learnt that much. 

Something occurs to Steve suddenly. “Tony?”

“Hm?”

“The, uh, compartmentalizing? How you’re playing a role when you’re with the press? Is that also why you haven’t talked about going public with us?”

“What?”

A blush colors his cheeks, unbidden. Yes, Steve wanted to keep their relationship secret at first, and was glad that Tony so readily agreed. But… 

“It’s been over three months,” Steve says. “I mean… At some point I’d like to hold your hand in public. Or kiss you. Just because I can.” 

Tony has frozen next to him and Steve feels his expression morph into a frown. 

“Or don’t you want that?” he adds, voice wavering. It’s probably his tone that catches Tony’s attention and makes him look up. 

Upon seeing Steve’s face, though, Tony immediately sits up. “No, it’s not that, don’t think that, how can you think that –”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

“It’s just – it’s final, right? Coming out, so to speak… there’ll be no way back.”

Steve blinks, honest-to-God dumbfounded. Tony rambles on. 

“I’d love to be able to touch you, or hold hands when we’re out, or kiss you; been imagining it, actually… But Steve, if we go public and it doesn’t – I mean if you…” Tony trails off, his brow furrowed in a mixture of dread and fear. 

But why would… _Oh._

Because this is Tony, the man who thought it was a fever dream or a hallucination when Steve eventually asked him out. Or course he’d think… _damn it, Rogers, you’ve screwed this up real good._

“You mean it’ll be easier if our relationship’s not public knowledge when I leave you?”

The way Tony flinches is unmistakable, even if the man tries to cover it up. Steve’s chest constricts painfully when he recognizes the resignation in Tony’s brown eyes and the way he shrugs. 

“Why are you so sure I’m gonna leave?”

“Because I’m me.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked you out in the first place.”

“No, you don’t –” Tony shifts, extending his legs and propping himself up on his left hand. “We’re in the honeymoon phase right now, okay? And it’s awesome and brilliant and we’re spending half our time in the bedroom – but that won’t last, okay? At some point, all those quirks of me aren’t gonna make you smile or bring me coffee or hoard me to bed after I’ve been awake for more than forty-eight hours. They’re gonna piss you off and annoy you, and the next time I forget an anniversary – ‘cos it’s been three months and you gave me that drawing two weeks ago and I only just realized that was an anniversary present but you didn’t mind… but you’re _gonna_ mind the next time or the one after that, and at first you’re just gonna miss me when I’ve got to work in New York and can’t make it to training or can’t show up for a date, but once everything’s not rainbows and unicorns anymore you’re gonna realize that a relationship with me is actually really hard work and then…”

Tony trails off but Steve can fill in the rest of his imagined scenario. 

“You say that as if I don’t have flaws of my own, Tony.”

“Name one.”

“I’m stubborn, which you _know_ , you’ve pointed it out often enough; I’m single-minded, and too idealistic and naïve according to you, and I can be clingy if I don’t actively hold myself back. We haven’t actually argued in weeks, but we’re going to again. I get lost in the gym just as much as you do in the workshop. I –”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Tony interrupts but Steve snatches the hand he is gesturing with out of the air and holds onto it. 

“No, you obviously don’t.”

“Well, enlighten me, then, Cap, ‘cos –”

“Tony, shut up.” He actually listens, which gives Steve the boost he needs to actually say what he is planning to say. “Yes, you have flaws, and yes, the honey-phase will end –”

“Honeymoon phase, Steve –”

“I’m trying to make a point here, Tony –”

“Then get to it –”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you, you jerk!”

“You – what?!”

Steve inhales deeply, chest heaving, using the short reprieve while Tony seemingly reboots his brain. “Yes. I’m in love with you, which is why I don’t care how much work you think you’ll be. I’m playing for keeps here, Tony. I’m not going to leave just because things get tough. I’m great at dealing with tough, and I’m not one for giving up.”

Tony nods slowly and Steve decides not to push it. Instead he lies down on his back, giddy because he finally said the l-word, and keeps his eyes on the other man as he is adjusting to the new status quo. 

It takes a couple of minutes until Tony swallows and rearranges himself so that he is lying on his side, facing Steve, who turns onto his side as well. It’s a good sign that Tony isn’t making a quip or something of the like – he might be uncomfortable with the level of intimacy they have reached, but at least he’s taking it serious enough not to deflect. 

“So,” Tony begins, drawing out the ‘o’. “I guess I’m going with what I want for the speech.”

Steve grins. “Good.” 

“And… You sure you’d like to make this public? At some point?”

“Yes. Not immediately. But we could look into ways to do it after the Fair. Or maybe not announce it at all; just stop trying to hide it.”

Now it is Tony who grins. “Sneaky. I like your out-of-the-box thinking, Cap.”

“Good,” Steve says again, giving into the urge to touch Tony’s face. He cups his jaw with his left hand, thumb stroking across his cheek. “I love you.” 

Tony gets that look again, this surprised, uncomprehending wide-eyed wondrous look that makes Steve swear to himself that he’s going repeat the sentiment every day until it doesn’t give Tony pause that someone could actually have such feelings for him. 

Tony surges forward, capturing Steve’s lips in a searing kiss. He throws one foot over Steve’s hips and rolls them over until he’s straddling Steve, nipping his bottom lip playfully. 

“Say it again?” His voice is soft, almost afraid, though Steve barely hesitates a second before he repeats the three words, and his throat tightens as Tony’s eyes take on a wet shine that neither of them draws attention to. 

Instead they just keep kissing, Tony’s tongue insistent and pleading simultaneously. It’s more intense than Steve remembers their make-out sessions ever being, leaving him out of breath with his heart in his throat as they break for air. 

He can feel Tony’s growing length against his abdomen, covered by Tony’s briefs but an insistent pressure that’s getting difficult to ignore, not unlike the thoughts Steve has been entertaining.

“Uh,” he starts eloquently. “You remember what I said the other day?” 

Tony seems to have developed telepathic abilities, for he leers after meeting Steve’s eyes. “Oh, I do, Cap.”

“So you want to?”

“If you’re sure?” It’s half-playful, half-serious. 

Instead of a verbal reply, Steve reaches for the bedside table, briefly thanking his dexterity because he manages to grab the lube within moments. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, Steve,” Tony promises, shuffling back on the mattress. 

He removes his own underwear first and Steve mirrors him, slightly distracted by the sight of Tony’s bare torso. He knows Tony hates his scars but Steve can’t help but think of them as beautiful, just as much a part of the man he loves as his hair or his lips. 

His penis is a marvel, too, thick and long, pleasantly proportional to the rest of him. Steve can’t wait to have it enter him for the first time. 

Tony swallows, and Steve can see his throat working in the dim light. The man raises an eyebrow. “You remember what I said I’d do to you?”

Steve nods breathlessly. 

“Good, ‘cos that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Steve braces himself while Tony pours slick over his fingers, though he doesn’t breach him immediately. Instead he just touches Steve, nothing but a soft pressure on his perineum while his left hand is stroking the outside of his thigh. 

“That’s it, relax,” Tony whispers when most of the anticipation flows from Steve’s body. It feels weird, at first, and Steve has to fight the heat rising from his chest up his neck. 

Tony apparently takes great pleasure from his reaction, if the way he licks his lips and his pupils dilate is any indication. 

“Remember, I’ll make you come on my fingers first.” 

Steve nods, spreading his legs a bit to give the other man better access. He hears Tony curse and feels fingers dig into the skin of his thigh. By the time a second finger joins the first, Steve’s body has adjusted to the intrusion and the strange feeling has evaporated, pleasure starting to build in its stead. 

“So, now I’m gonna blow your mind, Steve, just you wai-”

“Ah!”

“- until I find your prostate, which I guess I did, go me; hold on tight, Cap,” Tony says, and rubs that same spot again that almost made Steve jump off the mattress. 

It’s incredible, astounding even – no wonder the receiving participants always looked to content in these videos he watched. Tony is still talking, a string of words that wash over Steve without their meaning registering because his fingers don’t let up and then his other hand closes around Steve’s cock. 

Tony is a genius in many fields, though his ability to pick up on his partner’s preferences is equally amazing, at least in Steve’s opinion, who is arching his back and fisting the sheets in no time under Tony’s ministrations. 

“You should see yourself, Steve, so hot, _fuck_ , you’re just taking it and going with it, no shame at all, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and your abs, Steve, how’re they even _real_ …”

“Not gonna last,” Steve pants, because he thinks it’s polite to give your partner a warning and it never fails to elicit a chuckle from Tony.

“That’s the idea, Cap, come for me, just from my fingers, then I’m gonna add another one and stretch you real good, get you all open and ready for my cock, and then I’ll take you, be the first to do that to you and the last if I get a say, you hear me?”

And that’s what does it. Steve might try to deny it later on, but that possessive tone in Tony’s voice combined with the content of his words – damn. His entire body goes taunt and Tony stills his movements until Steve has finished spilling come all over his chest and stomach. 

And then Tony leans forward, two fingers still inside his ass, and _licks_ the fluid away. 

Steve has to close his eyes while his cock twitches feebly. Tony is smirking when he looks up, pulling his fingers out before pushing back in. 

More lube and a third finger later, Steve’s half-hard again, his growing erection the total focus of Tony. He wets his lips, which is the only warning Steve receives before there is a tongue flicking across the head of his cock, cleaning up the rest of the sperm. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Steve groans and would have gone on if Tony had not chosen that exact moment to assault his prostate again. 

Only when Steve is starting to push back into Tony’s fingers, practically fucking himself there for a moment as Tony moans at the sight, only then do the fingers leave him and he watches as his partner rearranges his limbs. Steve’s legs end up resting on Tony’s shoulders. 

“You ready?”

Steve’s breath is ragged so he can only muster a nod. 

“Tell me when you want to stop, alright?”

Another nod, then he can feel the blunt head of Tony’s erection against his entrance, sliding past the ring of muscle almost unbearably slowly. There is only a minimal amount of pain that quickly vanishes when Tony is fully sheathed inside of him, balls touching the soft spot of skin underneath Steve’s hole. 

“Holy shit, Steve,” Tony gasps, as if he is the one almost bent in half because Steve’s legs are trapped between their bodies. 

“Move, Tony, damn it,” Steve orders, hoping the other man is going to listen quickly; he needs friction or he thinks he might implode from the intensity of being filled like this. 

“Roger, Rogers,” Tony quips, and Steve laughs despite himself. 

He’s about to come up with a witty retort when Tony finally pulls back, only to push back in again, building a rhythm that Steve matches when pressing back. He clutches Tony’s arms, feeling the strain the position puts on them, and moans lowly. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, come on, you promised to fuck me into the mattress,” Steve teases, fully aware that the jib will make Tony double the speed as well as his efforts. 

Which is exactly what happens, only Steve miscalculated – the new angle also means that Tony hits his prostate more often than not, which sends sparks up and down his spine and compels his hips to move faster. 

It’s intimate and intense and breathtaking all at once, Tony’s face above him a study in pleasure, and Steve wishes he could draw it out but heat is already pooling in his stomach, no trace of superhuman stamina now. 

Steve comes without a hand on his cock this time, convulsing around Tony’s length. Tony, meanwhile, is watching him climax, fucking him through it and the aftershocks, though his rhythm is becoming erratic. 

“Come inside me, love,” Steve whispers, suddenly inspired. The word’s effect is instantaneous – Tony’s hips stutter and his eyes squeeze shut in a way that is completely unique to his orgasm as he follows him over the edge. 

Steve commits the sight to memory – he has a single sketchbook only for his lewd, Tony-inspired creations. He should show it to Tony sometime, he thinks, as the man himself drops onto Steve’s chest as if it were a mattress. 

Brown eyes find his, a question evident in them. 

Steve smiles back as brightly as the post-coital haze lets him, though Tony appears content with the reaction and rests his cheek against Steve’s right peck. 

Cleanup can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene just before the smut gave me grey hairs, seriously. I think this is the fourth or fifth draft, ugh. I hope it worked for y’all? Tony and Steve really have no idea how to talk about feelings… 
> 
> Next up: “Meet the new boss”


	6. Meet the new boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came at great personal cost – I was so busy planning it in my head that I didn’t notice as someone stole my wallet right out of my closed (!) bag while I was out for groceries. Most of the stuff inside had sentimental value; they could have just taken the money and left the wallet, seriously. Ugh. People are mean! 
> 
> But you guys are still awesome!! Thanks for the comments and kudos, every single one makes me cheer :D  
> And special thanks to [Books_Bring_You_To_Wonderland](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Books_Bring_You_To_Wonderland/pseuds/Books_Bring_You_To_Wonderland) for taking over as beta for part II! 
> 
> This chapter also has **minor spoilers for the end of both Agents of SHIELD season 2 and Daredevil season 1**. 
> 
> And I’m finally **introducing the X-Men** , yay! In my headcanon Professor Charles Xavier is about 34 and the initiator of the pilot project for a Mutant-only school in his family estate, not unlike what I wrote in [“Demoted”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3681117/chapters/8140551) (which you should read if you ship Cherik, btw, though please note that it comes with a warning for domestic abuse).

Steve runs every day when they aren’t on mission or he’s not too sore to move once they get back. The land surrounding the facility is still covered in snow this early in February, but Steve has made his way through worse. Besides, that’s what waterproof running gear is for. 

One circuit of the grounds is three miles, so he runs four or five laps every morning before breakfast (and after waking up to either Tony next to him or a note on the nightstand, depending on Tony’s sleep patterns that week). 

Since Bucky’s return, however, his morning runs aren’t solo anymore. Bucky pretty much matches his speed and doesn’t like to talk much during running, which works out well for both of them. It took a while to convince Bucky to accompany him, though from the looks of it he has grown to like the exercise. 

“Wanna chase me for warm-up? I’ll even give you a head start,” Steve asks this morning, a chilly Friday that holds a mysterious meeting in store later which Steve doesn’t know what to make of, if he’s being honest. 

“If anyone needs a head start, it’s you, Stevie,” Bucky grumbles in reply. He still is not a morning person. Some things even Hydra couldn’t change. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“What’s in it for me, punk?”

“I’ll make pancakes?” 

Food is basically the one thing that will get Bucky to step out of his comfort zone, probably because keeping their asset well-nourished wasn’t particularly high on Hydra’s list of priorities. Steve tries not to think about that too much, however, or he’ll start breaking gym bags again. 

Bucky shrugs after a moment, pulling the zipper of his sports jacket higher up his chest. All his clothes are a number too large, but it’s the only way to accommodate the arm. 

Steve draws a line into the snow, smoothed over by whoever SHIELD agent was on snowplow truck duty at sunrise. “Ready?” Bucky nods, getting into position. “Alright. Ready, set –”

“Go!” Bucky calls over his shoulder, because of course Bucky doesn’t play fair. He also cheats at poker, though the other Avengers have yet to catch on to that (well, maybe except Nat, but she’s still a bit distant when it comes to Bucky). 

Steve sighs, shakes his head, and tears off after his best friend. 

Bucky wins, though only by a few strides. 

They are just finishing lap number two at their usual pace when Steve spies Sam on the track ahead, probably just starting his workout. 

“On you left!” Steve calls because he’s a little shit. Well, he can’t help if Sam is still scoffing and obviously put out after all these months by being outrun by Captain America. 

“On your right!” 

Well, and the Winter Soldier. Bucky and Steve share a grin after passing Sam by, whose curses follow them until the path curves around a snowed-in tree. 

“At least he’s getting faster,” Bucky comments, jerking his head back to indicate Sam. 

“I think it’s his new life goal, keeping up with us.”

“He did get the memo about the serum, right?” 

Steve chuckles, slowing down a little to adjust for the slippery icecap covering the next portion of the track. 

“Don’t say it, Rogers!” Sam is shouting when they round the same curve for the forth time. “You too, Barnes, I swear I’ll make you regret it, dude!” 

“On your left!”

“On your right!”

“You’re going down, assholes!” 

Steve laughs so hard he almost stumbles, and he would have if it weren’t for Bucky reaching out to steady him with his metal hand. 

“Thought the times I saved your ass were over, Steve.”

“Only from myself,” he quips, continuing on their path. 

Suddenly, Steve’s ears pick up a strange noise, like feet on snow but much, much faster. 

“On your left, old man,” a voice says and then Steve is spinning from the speed of Pietro surging past him. 

“What the heck was –” is as far as Steve gets before – 

“On your right!” 

\- and Bucky’s stumbles as well, his whole body tense and head whipping around to find the kid. 

Then Bucky looks at him and Steve sees the same thought reflected back at him in mirthful blue eyes. 

They take off in a sprint, running faster than either of them ever has before. 

Pietro still outstrips them five more times before he leaves them alone, but he’s waiting at the finish line with Sam, both wearing matching Cheshire cat grins.

Steve’s lungs feel like they are on fire and he doubles over as soon as he comes to a stop, hands gripping his knees and his pride the only things that keep him upright. Bucky’s suffering a similar fate. 

“What the – hell – was that?” Bucky pants, hugging his ribs with his metal arm. 

“Payback, brothers,” Sam announces, extending his fist for Pietro to bump. They make an exploding gesture, complete with sound effects that Sam supplies, and Steve would scowl if he weren’t so busy catching his breath. 

“Need a medic?” Sam teases. “’Cause I can get you one, no problem. There’s an entire building with folks who’d surely love helping you breathe.”

“Screw you, Wilson,” Steve tells him, but there’s no heat in it. 

Sam tsks. “Language, Cap, Jesus.”

“I’ll give you language, you little punk –” Bucky starts, but Pietro is already moving before the last work leaves his lips, circling him once and causing him to turn on the spot from the velocity. 

Bucky is about to leap forward once he’s regained his balance, never mind that Quicksilver will be out of his reach in a tenth of a second – Bucky’s never really planned that much ahead, Steve muses – but he never gets to make his move because an arrow lands between them, right in front of Bucky’s feet. 

All four of them look up the slope to where the facility’s side entrance is located and sure enough, there is Clint, looking like a disappointed father chiding his kids. 

“Guys. We got a meeting in an hour, and I betcha none of you want to meet that mysterious Director sweating like pigs.”

“It’s called musk, Barton,” Bucky grouses, picking up the arrow and throwing it back. Clint catches is easily between his fingers. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Robo-Venger.”

Steve and Sam exchange an apprehensive glance but Bucky actually laughs. Steve doubts he’ll ever understand the easy camaraderie between Bucky and the archer. Bucky’s only explanation was that they bonded over a shared past of being mind-controlled into killing people, and Steve decided not to press the issue. 

Bucky turns towards Steve with a smirk, then. “Come on, you owe me pancakes.”

“And you owe me a dollar,” Pietro chimes in. It is directed at Sam whose grin only widens and he pats Pietro’s back. 

“Know what, I’ll add a tip, ‘cause that was awesome.” 

“Great,” Pietro says, then winks at Steve and Bucky, adding a “Laters!” and taking off towards the compound. 

Sam sighs. “We should’ve never introduced him to video on demand.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, giving Bucky the side-eye. “This one keeps bugging Tony about why beaming isn’t a thing yet.”

Once inside they make their way to their quarters, using the stairs instead of the elevator because the latter always earns them Natatsha’s scorn (“You’re able to run twelve miles in half an hour but you’re too old to climb a few floors?”), and halfway up Sam clears his throat. 

“So, you lookin’ forward to the meeting?”

“Not sure.” And Steve really isn’t. “It’s hard to know what to expect. I don’t like not knowing.”

“You and me both, bro. Fury’s a tough act to follow.”

“As long as the new fella or gal doesn’t sign off on anything like Project Insight again, we’ll be golden.”

Both Bucky and Sam’s expressions are enough to tell him how naïve that sounds, but well. A man can dream.

*

It was Hill who broke the news that both Colonel Danvers and all Avengers are going to meet Fury’s successor this Friday. The purpose of the meeting is not, however, a courtesy extended by SHIELD or the WSC, but a necessity. 

“The Director has things to brief you on,” was all Hill said, her face carefully blank. 

Which is why there is a decided air of apprehension surrounding them when the entire team convenes in the hallway in front of the conference room Hill chose. They are in casual wear (which for Tony usually includes grease stains, though they are suspiciously absent today) and talking in low voices, if at all. 

Tony is playing with schematics on his tablet, leaning comfortably into Steve’s space. “So,” he says without looking up. “I heard you found your match today, Capsicle.”

Steve splutters just a little, though he attempts to cover it immediately. “I thought I was a unique snowflake, Tony,” he deadpans, making Tony squint at him. 

“What? No! No, weren’t you paying attention during Fight Club?”

“I tried, Tony, but someone kept distracting me –”

“You were wearing that shirt! The tight one!”

“All my shirts are –”

“No, that one takes the crown, seriously, right after the white workout tee; I can’t be expected to concentrate on anything when you’ve got that on, Steve, it should be classified as a weapon – wait, we could totally do that, right?”

“We’re not abusing SHIELD channels for fun, Tony.”

“But I’m paying them, so –”

“Still doesn’t mean they’re toys.”

The other man mumbles something Steve pretends not to catch. He glances at Sam who looks like he’s relaying the story of Steve’s humiliation to Rhodey and Bruce while Pietro is speaking to Wanda in Serbian. Nat and Clint are watching the door as if it is going to tell them who the person they are meeting with is while Vision is observing all of them with his usual good-natured interest. 

“Anyway, back to the epic tale of your defeat,” Tony jeers, smiling way too smugly considering he had no hand in the incident. 

“How do you even know about that?” Because Steve needs to find a way to get back at whomever it was, really. 

Tony snorts. “Please, you think there aren’t cameras covering every inch of this place? I even compiled a video. It’s in today’s newsletter.”

“You compiled –”

“Okay, J. did, but I told him to and besides, I programmed him so I _technically_ also compiled that video – humph…”

Steve shuts him up the most effective way he knows – kissing him deeply – until Sam catcalls and Bucky tells them to get a room. 

Someone clears her throat. “Avengers.”

Steve blushes at Maria’s decidedly unimpressed expression. Colonel Danvers is with her, yet no other person who could be the Director. 

Steve gestures so everyone can see it and a moment later the Avengers have fallen into formation around him, looking expectantly at Hill. 

“Just to make this inescapably clear,” she begins in her no-nonsense voice that never fails to straighten Steve’s spine. “The Director’s identity is _more_ than classified, and if either of you breathes one word of what you are about to see or hear to anyone outside this group, I will personally ensure that you are tried for treason and left to rot in a cell for the rest of your lifespan, however long that may take. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve confirms, and his teammates echo the sentiment, some more whole-heartedly than others. 

Hill nods, lips pursed but apparently satisfied. “All right, then. Follow me.”

Steve yields entering the room first to Hill and Danvers, then steps through the open door. His eyes immediately land on the person standing at the tinted windows. Their back it to them, yet the shape is undeniably male, so Sam and Nat win that betting pool. Everyone else said it’d be a woman, including Steve (partly because Peggy would love a female director). Tony bet on cyborg, but alas, it’s Tony. 

Once everyone has filtered into the room and he door shuts with an audible _click_ , the stranger turns around. 

Steve is not the only one who gasps. 

“Director Coulson,” Hill greets. 

Phil Coulson’s lips twitch but his face remains void of anything as he meets every Avenger’s eye. 

“That’s Agent,” Tony stammers. 

“It’s Director now, actually,” Coulson replies, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You died,” Steve feels compelled to state in the hopes it will give them an explanation. 

“Only for a few days.” 

“How?” Tony voices the question they must all be thinking. “Wait, let me guess – alien tech? Something beyond our comprehension?”

“Something like that,” Coulson concedes. “The project has been terminated. It wasn’t without side effects.”

“Cost you your arm, too?” Tony probes, referring to the empty sleeve beneath Coulson’s left shoulder, pinned onto the fabric over his biceps. The entire forearm seems to be missing from what Steve can gather.

“That was an agent. Saved my life.” 

“Want an upgrade?” Tony offers. “I’m sorta becoming the leading expert on enhanced bionic limbs, with Barnsicle over there.”

Coulson shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

“How do we know you’re even him?” Clint interrupts, his voice sounding off. 

Steve looks at his teammate, noting the tension in his shoulders and the barely-concealed anger making his hands tremble where they are resting on his bow and pocket knife, respectively. 

Natasha is openly staring, lips slightly parted. Bruce seems as dubious as Tony while the rest of them, who never went into battle thinking that man in front of them had died for the idea they represent, just look thoroughly bewildered. 

“Clint.” For the first time, Coulson’s voice betrays some sort of feeling. It loses its clinical tone and his eyes are noticeable warmer when they turn on the archer and Natasha right behind him. “Ask me something only I could know.”

Steve watches as Clint swallows thickly. “Nine-eleven, two thousand two.”

“Number six, mint condition. Cape Town, if I recall.”

Everyone looks for Clint’s reaction, which is instantaneous – his face goes slack for a heartbeat before he schools his expression again, stepping forward and around the table until he is directly in front of the man. 

Not even Steve sees the punch coming. 

One second Clint is staring at Coulson, relaxed and maybe even relieved; the next he has already swung, his right fist connecting with Coulson’s left eye. Hill has her gun out the blink of an eye later though a gesture from the Director makes her stand down. 

Clint is already striding from the room. Steve exchanges a glance with Nat but it is Pietro who sends a quick, “I’m on it,” their way and goes after Hawkeye.

Coulson’s eye is already turning an angry shade of red. Steve cannot bring himself to muster even an ounce of compassion. 

“Why don’t we all sit down?” 

“Sir, we should get you an icepack –” 

“Leave it. I deserved it.”

“Damn right, you did,” Tony growls, yanking out a chair and flopping down angrily. The rest of the team follows after a terse nod from Steve who takes the seat on Tony’s left, at the one end of the table. Coulson takes the head with Hill while Danvers, who is hiding her bewilderment well, sits down across from Steve. 

Before anyone can steer the conversation in any particular direction, Steve speaks up. “I assume the decision to hide your survival from us came from Fury?” 

Coulson nods. “And by the time the Avengers reconvened, I was already Director and a little busy dealing with the fall of SHIELD.”

“Completely valid reasons, sir,” Steve manages through gritted teeth and Coulson winces at his tone. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, but it was the right decision.”

No one comments on it this time. The silence is loud enough to convey their doubts about that particular statement. 

“Agent Hill said you wanted to brief us, sir,” Steve eventually prompts and the Director accepts the new topic with a nod. 

Hill quickly hands out the stack of files she brought with her and Steve opens it, curious despite his anger. The first page is an index, entitled ‘Current Threats And Developments Of Interest’, listing items such as ‘Disappearance of Ulysses Klaue’, ‘New Hydra leadership’, ‘Brotherhood of Mutants’, ‘Spiderman’, ‘Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’, ‘Fish Oil Poisonings’, and ‘Inhumans’. 

Coulson walks them through the entire folder, though most of the time he might have gotten more of a reaction from a wall. Steve has to actively force himself to engage in the conversation, ignoring the sense of betrayal that seems to have made his colleagues mute. Only Wanda and Vision pipe up occasionally, the first time when Coulson introduces them to Grant Ward and an as of yet unidentified woman. 

“Madame Hydra,” Wanda whispers. “The Viper. Strucker mentioned her. I never saw her, but the abilities match.”

Abilities such as incredible strength, speed and dexterity as well as superior hand-to-hand combat skills, matching those of Crossbones whom they encountered in January. 

“Rumor has it that AIM has equipped her with poisonous fingernails, but we have been unable to confirm that,” Hill adds. 

“What about him?” Steve asks, pointing at the picture of a ruggedly handsome man with fierce eyes. 

A shadow darkens Coulson and Hill’s faces. “Grant Ward,” the former explains, “part of my post-New-York team. He was Hydra all along. He has been seen in the vicinity of the same buildings as Crossbones and Madame Hydra. He might have assumed command of what is left of the organization.”

Part of Steve’s anger leaves him at the hurt in Coulson’s voice. Ward’s betrayal must have stung deeply, if the Director cannot keep it from coloring his tone.

Coulson swiftly walks them through the subitems ‘Brotherhood of Mutants’ (which have been labeled a terrorist organization given that they have been advocating Mutant supremacy for approximately thirteen years now), ‘Spiderman’ and ‘Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’, which finally pulls the others out of their stupor. 

“Why is this guy wearing spandex?” Bucky asks, gazing at the blurry image of a man in a red and blue costume. 

“Not everyone can afford my tech, Barnes,” Tony explains, flipping the page to an older image in which the vigilante is wearing something even less weapon-repellant. 

“I hope for the sake of SHIELD’s integrity that Spiderman falls in the ‘Developments Of Interest’ category.”

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” Coulson confirms. “As does Daredevil.”

“Now that looks like it can stop a knife,” Tony helpfully points out.

Steve says nothing. He has not an inch of ground to stand on, considering what he was wearing during the USO tour… 

Coulson quickly fills them in on what SHIELD knows of Daredevil’s activities after he took down Wilson Fisk, who is still safely tucked away in prison, including but not limited to a lawsuit filed by the City of New York against the masked vigilante on grounds of property damage, then catches them up on a number of strange deaths whose common denominator seems to be that all victims took Fish Oil supplements. Bruce volunteers some input this time, yet the phenomenon seems to baffle him as much as it does SHIELD. 

“What about the Inhumans? Uh, sir?” Sam ventures, indicating the practically blank page in the file. “That’s not a lot to go on.”

“That’s because it is classified.”

“Won’t be a problem, Wilson,” Tony cuts in, practically talking over Coulson. “Look, it says they’re coordinating their efforts with Xavier, I’ll just give him a call.”

“The professor is under strict orders not to fill you in, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, Agent Hill, you wound me.”

“You mean Charles Xavier?” Steve asks, just to make sure. “The principal of that Mutant school pilot project?”

“Yup, and my childhood friend,” Tony says, then pauses. “Well, ‘friend’ might be stretching it a bit. He’s ten years younger, but we ran in the same circles, so.” He finishes with a ‘you know how it goes’ gesture and Steve wonders if there will ever come a time that Tony realizes that not everyone grew up among the swells with mansions next to Central Park. 

“So SHIELD is working together with integrationist Mutants when handling ‘gifted’ humans?” 

It marks the first time Natasha spoke since entering the room. Coulson inclines his head. 

“There aren’t many gifted individuals yet, and like I said, this project is strictly classified.”

Steve meets Nat’s eyes over Tony’s lap. She seems to be thinking along the same lines as him – there has to be a lot more to it than this. Tony quirks an eyebrow at both of them in turn, clearly already putting ‘hack SHIELD’s most secure servers’ on his to do list. 

Steve clears his throat. “Is that all, sir? I wouldn’t want my team to miss out on their training hours just to stare at empty files.”

Next to him, Tony has to bite his lip to keep himself from chuckling. Sam didn’t have that foresight, so he is hiding his mouth behind his closed hand. 

“Almost, Captain. I also wanted to congratulate you all – it is good to see you all together as a team.”

“And please hand the files back to me for shredding,” Hill goes on, since she has caught the way Steve’s knuckles have whitened as his hands are forming fists on the table. 

He doesn’t doubt Coulson is proud of them – Steve will be the first to stress how much their group has accomplished in the past few months. No, it’s just that Coulson’s death was what triggered the process. Him, alive and well, commending them really doesn’t sit well with Steve. 

And judging by the matching glares Nat, Tony and Bruce are sending Coulson’s way, he is not alone with that feeling. 

*

Clint’s feet carry him straight to the shooting range. He has his bow with him; exercise arrowheads are stored in the lockers at the back, and within minutes he is working with pop-up targets. 

He wonders whom Steve will send after him. Probably one of the newbies. Maybe Barnes. They’re sniper bros now. 

In the end it’s not Barnes, it’s Pietro. The kid, when he enters, is walking at a sedate pace that could almost be considered a stroll. 

“If the next words out of your mouth are that you did not see that punch coming, I swear I’m gonna find a way to take you by surprise and I’ll clock you, too.”

Pietro lifts his hands in defense where they were resting at hip-level. “Okay.” He watches Clint sink four arrows into five targets. “You want to talk?”

“Right now I just wanna shoot something that presents a challenge.”

It takes another two arrows until Clint turns his head. Pietro has his hands spread, a smirk on his face and a suggestion in his eyes. 

“You sure?”

He gets a shrug in return. “In the off chance you actually do hit me, I heal pretty fast now.”

Clint holds his gaze for a moment before nodding, nocking another arrow. Pietro is off immediately, zipping around the room. Clint has to rely as much on his eyes as on his ears, something that is continuously improving. He forgets he’s wearing hearing aids most of the time, given that there is no actual difference to before the incident. 

Thoughts of Laura make him only want to hit things, so he channels his musings towards Phil. 

Phil, who is alive and well, has been alive for years without ever bothering to tell him. It fucking _hurts_. 

When Clint eventually puts the bow down, his shoulders are aching and Pietro has a fresh wound on his calf. The arrow barely grazed him, and Clint suspects he only managed that because the punk let him, sort of to allow him to walk out of here with his dignity intact. 

Clint rolls his shoulders, then places his bow on the ground gently before reaching behind his neck to massage the muscles there, but not even ten seconds pass before his hands are being slapped away and Pietro takes over. 

“You even know what you’re doing?”

Instead of replying, Pietro just pushes his thumbs into the perfect spots and Clint has to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning. _Christ, that feels good._

“I get sore, too,” is the young man’s explanation as he moves outwards and back in, releasing tension at a soothing rhythm. 

“Well, thanks.”

Clint has no idea how long they stand there, but when Pietro eventually steps back and withdraws his hands, Clint’s shoulders feel even better than after some of the massage therapy sessions SHIELD made him keep. 

“You want to talk now?”

“Why’re you so obsessed with getting me to talk, huh?”

“You punched the Director of SHIELD. It looked like you had… reason.”

“Damn well I had reason!” Clint explodes, glad that he’s not holding his bow because he would have used it to hit a wall, and that’s definitely not a point in the bow-maintenance manual. “He was my handler, and I thought we were friends, and friends just don’t get resurrected and then don’t tell anyone!”

“I kept it from you for months.”

“Not the same. You knew you’d come back, you said that yourself. Phil, he… That bastard!” 

He kicks at a chair and it sails across the room, hitting one of the intimated obstacles without breaking it. Clint kicks at another one, follows it when that one, too, remains intact until he has reached the wall. He leans his forehead against it, then turns around and slides to the floor. 

It doesn’t take long until Pietro joins him there, feet stretched out in front of him. 

“What does it mean?” he asks, prompting Clint to tilt his head quizzically. “You said he was your handler. What does that mean?”

“Uh…” Clint runs a hand through his hair and scratches his head. “Like a case worker. Your handler is in charge of you, overseeing your training, assisting on missions, giving orders… I went through a bunch of them after Fury brought me on. I was a punk-ass little shit, really. Ha, I guess I still am. Gave ‘em hell. I like vents –”

“I noticed,” Pietro comments under his breath but Clint hears him and cuffs him lightly over the head. Pietro could have evaded that if he wanted, so he’s not feeling bad about it. 

“Yeah, well, back then I spent more time there than now. I grew up in a circus, so what the hell did they expect? Emily-Post-worthy etiquette?”

“A circus?” Pietro’s tone is tinged with disbelief. 

“Yeah. Hell, next time you’re on a tablet ask J.J. to pull up some of the old posters. I was the Amazing Hawkeye, the world’s greatest marksman!”

And yes, Clint still takes pride in that. 

“Oh, I will. Believe me.” 

“You do that. Anyway, a whole bunch of handlers tried their luck with me and I chased all of them off. Until Coulson. He was the first who actually met me with respect. He took my input. I was more to him than just a sniper, and at some point we became friends.”

“What was the date you gave him? When you asked how we could know it’s him?”

Clint actually smiles at that, despite how blue he’s feeling. “I gave him the last Captain America trading card he was missing for his set. He collected them. I found one in Cape Town, won it in a game of poker. Fury used them when Phil died, were all bloody. Showed them to us. That’s when we started working together, during the invasion back in 2012.”

Pietro seems like he is about to say something, maybe something favorable about the strategy, but he stops himself at the last moment. 

“I visited his family, you know?” Clint continues. He has no freaking clue why he’s still talking, and shit, before he visits his kids again he really needs to cut back on the cussing or he’ll be paying for a trip to Disney World with his contributions to the swear jar. 

“Coulson’s?”

“Yeah. His sisters and nieces and nephews. Took Laura and our little ones. Coulson’s family was one of the few who knew about Laura.”

Pietro bites his lip, a gesture that makes him seem even younger than he is. Whatever he’s going to say next, it’s probably pretty damn personal. 

“You met her after the circus?”

Bull’s-eye. 

Clint swallows, but the lump that’s usually clogging his throat when he talks about her (to Nat, mostly, once to Bucky two weeks ago) is smaller today. 

“Even met her on a mission. Used to do some contract work here and there, which is how I ended up on SHIELD’s radar. Saved her from some assassin who didn’t care about collateral damage.” 

He wants to go on, knows he shouldn’t. Pietro doesn’t care. 

“And you just fell in love? Must have been nice.” Clint can’t help but bark out a laugh, because boy, is he wrong. Pietro narrows his eyes, looking genuinely interested. “What? No grand story of love at first sight?”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Clint lets his head fall back and gazes at the ceiling. “It was a one night stand. Ain’t that hilarious? I mean, we had chemistry, but back then… I was barely 22, four years out of the circus. We had a great time, asked for her number in case I ever was in the area again. Dropped by five months later and saw she was pregnant. She was ignoring my calls because she thought I wouldn’t wanna have anything to do with her. But that’s not me. My old man left us, Barney and me, and I couldn’t do that to my kid.”

“So you married her?”

Clint nods. “We made it work. Even fell in love, in our own way. It was better like that, I think – we were best friends, a real team, so when the passion dwindled, we still had that going for us. And we both were really compatible between the sheets, so that helped.” He laughs dryly. “When Fury offered me a contract with SHIELD, and job security, and health insurance… I didn’t blink, didn’t weigh my options. ‘Cause it wasn’t just about me anymore.”

He falls silent for a minute or two.

“I still miss her every day. But… It’s easier. I think I’ve healed as much as I’m ever gonna heal.”

Pietro somehow seems to sense that his confession doesn’t require any further comment for he remains silent. They keep sitting there, with only the faint noise of the air conditioning and each other for company. 

When he thinks he can move again without sudden violent urges against facility furniture, Clint blows out a breath. Pietro jumps to his feet immediately, raising an eyebrow, one stray lock of silver hair falling into his eyes. 

“Lunch?”

“Starving,” Clint says, and accepts the extended hand to pull himself up. 

He feels lighter, somehow. Still angry at Phil, but apparently SHIELD psychiatrists did have a point when they insisted that talking about stuff helps. 

By the time he has slung his bow over his shoulder, Pietro has finished tidying up, his hair a mess until he smooths it back into a semblance of order. 

With a grin Clint reaches out and ruffles it, more surprised when the other man isn’t quick enough to pull away. 

“Hey!” 

“Didn’t see that coming, huh?” Clint sneers, and earns a full-belly laugh in return. Once Pietro has recovered again and their eyes meet, Clint schools his expression into something more serious. “Thank you.”

Pietro inclines his head. “Don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* You have just witnessed the initial stages of Hawksilver. Let’s see how long it takes Clint to realize Pietro is already head over heels for him? Maybe there’ll be an intervention at some point^^  
> Anyway, I hope you liked my backstory :) It makes Cooper and Lila a bit older than I think they might actually be in AoU, but this is fiction, so there.
> 
> The first scene is based on [this wonderful fanart](http://tiny-gentleman-scientist.tumblr.com/post/116924575987/sorry-steve-bonus-sorry-pietro) by tiny-gentleman-scientist.
> 
> Next up: "Fool for love"
> 
> PS: In case you haven't seen it yet, #TeamCarter and #TeamSHIELD are having a [Dubsmash War for charity](https://www.crowdrise.com/dubsmashwars). Be sure to watch the original dubs, they're hilarious and surely will lift your mood :)


	7. Fool for love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, guys, over 100 Kudos already ♥ I’m exploding with pride over here! And the first act isn’t even done yet…  
> I added a preliminary chapter count, btw, just to give you an idea of the scope of this story. I've written up to chapter 20, though starting with chapter 10 I will switch to weekly updates rather than biweekly ones to make sure I don't run out of things to post. 
> 
> Fyi, In my AU Pepper wasn’t “cured” of Extremis, because why would she want that? She’s stable and those powers are awesome.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter brings more world building, and Valentine’s Day, and Tony Feels… Buckle up, y’all :)

The Winter Soldier’s first mission with the Avengers is a full success. Or at least eighty-eight per cent – Steve deducts the other twelve for the shouting match they have on the quinjet flight back. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bucky disengages the stomach plating of Steve’s uniform, his scowl only deepening when Steve flinches from the pain. “You got a shield for a reason! Use it, damn it!”

“There wasn’t time –”

“There darn well was! Quicksilver’s there for a reason, or did ya forget that, punk?”

Steve clenches his jaw and doesn’t reply, suffering through Bucky’s mother henning only because he hasn’t had his best friend back for long. 

But other than that, proving to the world that the Winter Soldier is a valuable member of their Initiative who can be trusted to avenge the public was successful. Steve would cheer if his ribs weren’t hurting this much, but as it is he barely makes it to his bed before collapsing. 

Bucky sent him off with a glare and a nod towards Bruce, Pietro and Wanda, who had accompanied them on the mission and look as if they never even lifted a finger. Which isn’t true, they did most of the work with Steve coordinating their efforts and throwing his shield around a bit (and bodily protecting innocent bystanders while his shield was flying through the air, granted). 

They even managed to subdue their target – a young Mutant who just presented with incredible powers – and take him in. Hopefully he’ll be processed quickly and returned to his family with an admission to Xavier’s Institute. 

Still, the shockwaves the boy emitted weren’t for the weak and there is only so much force Steve’s uniform can withstand. 

He has enough presence of mind to send off a quick text to Tony, who is on the other side of the coast for an interview, before drifting off into sleep. 

*

“Captain, this is your reminder to watch sir’s live interview.”

Steve is awake in a heartbeat, immediately regretting that he didn’t change out of his under armor before collapsing – he glances at the clock – about six hours ago. 

“Thank you, J.J. Did Tony try to call?” 

“Yes, though when I informed him you were asleep he insisted I not wake you. He said to tell you he is going to call once the interview has wrapped up.”

“Send him a good luck text from me? And tell the others I’m on my way down, please?”

“Right away, Captain.”

Steve takes the quickest shower of his life and is sitting between Bucky and Sam in the living room just in time for the talk show’s logo to flash on screen. 

Everyone has gathered to watch, and the way his teammates are sprawled across various items of furniture, completely relaxed and apparently comfortable in each other’s company warms Steve’s heart. Even Nat looks relaxed. Maybe Bucky’s performance today finally managed to show her that he is a trustworthy ally, if not yet a friend. 

_“Hello, and welcome to Mutant Talks, I’m your host Miranda and I’m incredibly excited about my guest tonight!”_ the young, green-skinned woman on screen says into the camera.

It still amazes Steve whenever he sees someone with a visible mutation. He used to think he was a freak of science, but today he is just one of many people who are simply different than the so-called norm. Granted, there are hate groups and the like, and governments are struggling to contain the more dangerous among the Mutants in case they commit a crime and have to be incarcerated, though in general the world has become a lot more inclusive. 

Miranda, J.J. told him when Tony mentioned she would conduct his first interview in two and a half years, is the first and so far only talk show host with a visible mutation. She is able to grow wildlife, which is one of the less obviously dangerous mutations and probably an essential aspect of why people like her despite the stigma still attached to Mutants. Self-grown flowers have become the woman’s signature. 

On screen, the crowd cheers.

_“That’s right, I know you’ve seen the teasers, so without further ado, let’s give a warm welcome to Tony Stark!”_

More applause and Tony emerges from behind the set, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that clings to his form in a way that makes Steve’s mouth go dry.

_“Hello Miranda, can I just say you look splendid today?”_

_“Thank you! So do you! Loads better than on that photo from October!”_

No one else probably notices, yet Steve sees just how forced Tony’s subsequent laugh is. 

_“How’s the team?”_

_“Better than ever,”_ Tony replies, taking a seat on the couch next to Miranda’s chair, only a small coffee table separating them. _“I’m sure you caught the news this morning.”_

_“I have to admit, I was a little weary about having the Winter Soldier out and about –”_

_“You and most of the country, I guess.”_

_“True. But from what we could see this morning he’s fully integrated, isn’t he?”_

_“Definitely. I think our dear Captain’s even caught him up on pop culture.”_

_“So the rumors of Avengers movie nights are true?”_

_“I’m not at liberty to say, Miranda.”_

_“That’s too bad. We’ll keep imagining you guys crying over The Notebook.”_

_“You go ahead.”_

_“But we’re actually here to talk a bit about the upcoming Stark Industries Launch Fair. Want to tell us what that’s about?”_

_“With pleasure. You see…”_

Steve has never seen Tony this smooth before. He doubts anything would stick to him right now, even Miranda’s tiny jibes about Ultron being considered his fault roll right off Tony as he talks about securer networks and innovative features that will be revealed at the Fair. 

He is not sure he likes this Tony. At least he finally understands what Tony meant by ‘playing a part’ or ‘putting on a show’ for reporters, because that, on the couch? That’s not the Tony Stark he has come to love. It’s a shallow imitation; a shadow of the man Steve knows Tony to be. 

_“So,”_ Miranda drawls, drawing out the ‘o’ and smirking at Tony. _“Valentine’s Day is coming up. Any plans, Mr. Stark?”_

_“Tony, please, I told you. And I’m not sure.”_

_“You mean you’re not sure you’ve got a date for Sunday? I’m sure I’ll be able to find – oh yes, see? There’s already volunteers.”_

The camera pans over the audience where several members are standing and holding up their hands with wide smiles. Steve’s hand clenches around his mug of coffee. Next to him, Sam snickers at his reaction.

_“Thanks, but I’ll be spending the day with the Avengers. I’m sure one of them has something planned.”_

_“So Captain Rogers isn’t going to spend the day with his special someone? Can you give us anything on that?”_

_“Cap’s not really the kinda guy to kiss and tell.”_

Everyone around Steve laughs out loud at that and even he has to chuckle.

_“But Captain Rogers will give you guys the day off? People say he’s pretty strict when it comes to his training schedule.”_

_“Oh, he is,”_ Tony replies and this time his grin is genuine. _“But even he knows that saying no to Black Widow is a bad idea.”_

_“She’s in charge of Valentine’s Day planning, then?”_

_“No, it’s her turn to pick the movie,” Tony points out with a wink at the audience, which erupts into laughter._

_“There you have it, Avengers Movie Night is officially confirmed. You heard it first on Mutant Talks, everyone. I’m afraid I’ll have to say goodbye to Tony now, though I’m sure he’ll be willing to sign a few autographs, right?”_

_“Sure, why not.”_

_“Great! Anyway, we’ll be back next week with a brand new show, this time welcoming Professor Charles Xavier to talk about – ”_

The television switches off as the credits start to roll. 

“I’m sure folks are already imagining which movie you’re gonna pick, Nat,” Sam says with a laugh. 

“Well, they’ll never guess what I’ve got in store for you guys.”

“It’s not another of these SAW things, is it?” Rhodey asks. “Haven’t recovered from the sixth one yet.”

“I think it’ll be something romantic,” Clint announces. “It’s V-Day, after all.”

“Speaking of,” Nat turns towards Steve. “Will you and Mr. Yes-We-Have-Movie-Nights be joining us?”

“I guess?” Steve really doesn’t know. “Tony hasn’t mentioned any plans but he could be planning a surprise?”

Wanda giggles at that. “He’ll whisk you away with the armor to watch you swoon.”

“I don’t swoon –”

“Then what was that last week, bro?”

“Yeah, you totally swooned, it was adorable.”

“Barton’s right, I saw it, too, Stevie.”

“I hate all of you.”

Pietro makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like something from Glee (which Steve only watched three episodes of to know what the fuzz is about), yet thankfully Steve is saved from having to come up with a more witty reply by his ringing phone. 

“We’re living with a bunch of five-year-old,” he tells Tony once he has relocated into the decidedly calmer kitchen to the cheers of his teammates. 

“Babe, you’re their Captain, you get them in line. I’m just here to offer sarcastic comments.”

“I actually have Sam for that. And Clint. And Bucky.”

“Well, I have other talents.”

“True.” Steve pours himself another cup of coffee, giving the upgraded machine a wide berth. “You satisfied with how it turned out?”

“Ugh, no… Well, could’ve been worse. But we specifically agreed no Ultron hints and what does she do? Not my fault the network’s on her ass to keep the show tame and steer clear of controversial issues; doesn’t have to make _me_ suffer for her shitty life choices. Shoulda stayed on YouTube.”

“Well, you handled it well. At least I thought so.”

“Thanks. I guess it was alright. How mad is Natasha right now?”

“More amused than anything.”

“Phew.”

“So, uh… we haven’t talked about Valentine’s Day.”

“Don’t worry, I actually do have a surprise, but it’ll interfere neither with mass nor afternoon sparring. Or movie night, for that matter.”

“So you’re really not kidnapping me?”

“Unless you want me to?”

“You know you don’t need to put yourself out –”

“I’m genuinely not, though. Me putting myself out would be… I don’t even know, taking you skiing in Europe, ‘cos I actually hate skiing, or – hang on, didn’t Barnes’ postcards say you guys wanted to see the Louvre?”

Steve shakes his head at his partner’s mental leaps but he’s smiling all the same. 

“’Cos I could make that happen; just say the word and I’ll put you and the Terminator on a private jet to Paris. Maybe for Christmas?”

“Please don’t let Bucky hear you call him that.”

“’Course not! You think I got a death wish?”

“Well…”

“Forget I asked that. Anyway, there’s a producer hovering a respectable distance away; I guess he’ll want to minimize the length of time I boycott their network for Miranda ignoring our agreement. Then I gotta do some autographs… See you tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it. And don’t be too hard on them, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Captain Goodie-Two-Shoes…”

The call disconnects and Steve is left considering the phone. A surprise, huh. Knowing Tony that can be anything from breakfast in bed (unlikely) to a new arm holster for his shield. 

If Steve only knew what to get him. He briefly considered another drawing but Christmas was only two months ago… What do you give the man who can buy everything of material worth? 

Well, Steve once took out the entire STRIKE team in an elevator. He’ll find a Valentine’s gift for Tony Stark. 

* 

Sunday morning, Steve wakes up with Tony’s lips wrapped around his erection. 

It isn’t actually be the first time it happened, though Steve is pretty sure morning blowjobs are not something you ever get used to. 

“Rise and shine,” Tony whispers against his length. “Though the rising’s already taken care off.”

“Nghh…”

There really isn’t any more to say because one of Tony’s hands is massaging his balls in a way that make Steve’s mind go absolutely blank safe for sparks of pleasure. 

Tony is taking his sweet time, sliding his mouth down Steve’s cock and applying even more suction on the upward movement, pressing his tongue to the spot where glans meets shaft. The hands on his hips are the only things keeping Steve down and he has to grip the sheets tight enough to rip them apart as a distraction from how enticing Tony’s hair looks. 

Tony pulls off for a second only to bury his face in Steve’s pubic region with a moan. “Do it,” he says, a little hoarse already. “It’s okay.”

“The others –”

“Will know why my lips are so swollen, seriously, they’re all very imaginative people. Can you fuck my mouth already?”

“You say the sweetest things.”

But Steve is already moving, abandoning the wrinkled sheets and grabbing a fistful of Tony’s hair, yanking him forward just slightly. Tony’s eyes fall shut and he goes with the movement, letting Steve feed his cock between his lips. 

Tony relaxes his jaw and moans at the back of his throat – which Steve feels because he is _right there_. He curses under his breath as he starts thrusting, building a rhythm in tight heat. 

He keeps his eyes on Tony, lying on his stomach between Steve’s legs. They’re both equally naked, something that has Steve contemplating for a split second how Tony got his briefs off without him waking up, but then Tony swallows around the head of his cock and all coherency flies right out of the window. 

“Touch yourself,” Steve orders, aiming for his Captain voice because Tony really, really likes that sometimes. 

Tony’s hips jerk against where they are pressed against the mattress – Steve can feel the tremors – and snakes one hand down as he shifts slightly to lie on his side. 

It’s a highly erotic image: Tony, resting on his right hip, a hand jerking himself off while Steve is thrusting up into his mouth. 

Steve never stood a chance. 

“Tony,” he gasps, but the other man is nodding, pushing himself further onto Steve’s cock and swallowing at the same time. The orgasm hits Steve like a freight train and he spills himself down Tony’s throat, holding him down until it’s over and Tony is gasping for air. 

The first time Steve did that, he spent the next ten minutes apologizing profusely, though Tony insists he loved every second of it. 

Which is why Steve stifles the words before they tumble out again and basks in the hazy, post-orgasmic haze. 

“You want me to return the favor?” Steve asks when Tony sits up a little, cheeks flushed and lips so obviously marked that Steve doubts he’ll be able to look his teammates in the eye today. 

Tony shakes his head, sitting back on his hunches. “Just lie there and look pretty.”

Steve chuckles. “I can do that.”

He doesn’t break eye contact until Tony comes all over Steve’s chest and abs. 

“Shower?” he suggests once his partner looks like he might be able to process words again. 

“Nah, stay here. I promised a surprise, after all.”

Steve squints after him, then accepts the warm washcloth as Tony hands it to him for clean up. The man disappears again, only to return with a tray. A tray holding food. It looks nothing like what the kitchen staff prepares, though, and Steve blinks up at his boyfriend, somewhat floored. 

“You made me breakfast?”

“Don’t sound so surprised; bacon and eggs is something I actually manage half-decently, I’ll have you know.”

Steve kisses any further fake indignation off Tony’s face. “Thank you, love.”

The way Tony’s eyes sparkle at the moniker is even better than the eggs when Steve finally tastes them. 

“I also have a present for you.”

“You mean you slaving away at the hearth wasn’t good enough?”

“Be glad I didn’t buy you an island, Cap. It was on the list.”

“There was a list?”

“Yes, and you’re never ever allowed to see it. But, uh, here.”

It is a small parcel, wrapped in newspaper because Steve once complained about how wasteful expensive wrapping paper is, and that gesture alone makes Steve’s heart double in size. He manages to refrain from tackling Tony with a hug and pulls off the tape carefully. 

“Could you do this any slower?”

“You took your time to wrap it, so I’ll honor that effort by not just tearing it off.”

There is a pause, so Steve glances up only to find Tony shaking his head with a fascinated expression. He smiles, and removes the rest of the tape and eventually the paper. It reveals a small, nondescript box that fits into the palm of Steve’s hand. He uncovers the lid, unsure of what to expect, and finds a watch inside. 

“You said you don’t wear one ‘cos they break so easily, so I snitched some of the Vibranium we salvaged from Ultron’s bots and used that to reinforce the casing and the wristband. Oh, and it’s got J.J. on it and an uplink to Stark servers, can even do holograms, hang on –”

As if on cue – it probably was an actual cue – the watch’s face lights up. It is an analog one, though in front of Steve eyes it morphs into a tiny screen, which then projects a three-dimensional clock into the air above it. 

“- but it’s still running on batteries ‘cos I still haven’t figured out how to minimize the arc reactor to fit – ”

Steve interrupts Tony’s explanation with a kiss. “It’s amazing,” he says when they part, meaning it. He puts it on, unsurprised when it fits like a second skin, light yet still a noticeable weight. 

Tony’s shoulders sag in obvious relief. “Phew. I was ten seconds away from buying you that island, just so you know, and only a fateful call from – wait, what’s wrong?”

Steve shrugs helplessly. “My present doesn’t come close.”

“Ludicrous! It’s from you, for me, so that already makes it awesome.”

“It’s corny.”

“It’s a Valentine’s gift from my boyfriend who was born in 1918. Corny kinda goes without saying.”

Steve shoves Tony playfully and laughs when Tony almost tumbles off the bed because he is precariously close to the edge of the mattress. He quickly reaches underneath the bed – “You hid it here, that’s why I couldn’t find it! Sneaky, Rogers, sneaky…” – and hands it over with trepidation. 

Tony’s grin as he undoes the wrapping reassures him a little, yet his heart is still beating in his throat when he watches Tony uncover the small, rectangular box, lifting the lid before the wrapping paper even hits the sheets next to him. 

Steve contemplated several options, from flowers to vouchers for sexual acts (which is a thing people do for Valentine’s Day according to the internet), but when he was out the day after Tony’s interview he saw something that inspired him. 

So he took one of his original dog tags, courtesy of SHIELD archives after he woke up, bought a new chain and a second tag (covertly, of course), and scratched a likeness of his shield into the blank tag. Onto the back he scratched, after hours of deliberation, one single word. _Together._

“In my defense, you’re impossible to find a gift for, and I saw these plastic dog tags in a shop window, nothing more than fan merchandise, really, but I thought –”

“I love it.” 

Steve tilts his head but Tony sounds genuine. 

“I mean it. Yes, it’s corny, but it’s also unique and from you, now I’ll have you with me wherever I go; I can even hide this under a tee or a shirt and I’m gonna stop talking now or I’ll blab on for another hour…”

Tony ducks his head, cheeks coloring, so Steve just has to tilt his head up and press his lips against Tony’s. 

The kiss seems to go on forever. It’s practically chaste but incredibly intimate, leaving Steve’s skin prickling and his heart racing. 

“I love you,” Steve says against Tony’s temple. “Though if I don’t shower soon I’ll be late for mass.”

“Nothing’s keeping you from showering,” Tony whispers back and Steve makes a point of looking at where Tony’s hands are still wrapped around his waist. “Alright, but _now_ nothing’s keeping you from showering.”

“You gonna have a lazy Sunday?” Steve gives Tony another peck that is more smile than kiss this time and rolls out of bed. 

“I’ve been up for hours, slaving away in the kitchen and delivering Valentine blow jobs all morning! I’m allowed!” Tony calls after him and Steve sends him another grin before disappearing into the bathroom. 

He places the watch on the shelf above the sink, tracing the casing with his index finger. Pepper’s words echo in his head – she called last week to confirm the Avengers’ appearance at the Launch Fair’s closing event and they got talking about Tony. Steve blurted, “I told him I love him and he hasn’t…” and then rushed to add “I mean – sorry, forget I said anything.”

Only Pepper didn’t. “Steve, it’s okay. I know how it feels… It’ll take him a while to say it back, but he’ll say it with his actions instead, if you know how to listen.”

As Steve brushes his thumb over the display, he thinks he has heard loud and clear.

*

Barring emergencies, Sundays are their days off. Personally, Bruce marks that day by extending his meditation session, while Steve, Sam, Rhodey, and as of this month Colonel Danvers attend the ecumenical service at the on-site chapel. 

Bruce still hasn’t figured out who reminded Tony to integrate that particular facet – as well as sites of prayer for all larger religion – into the facility blueprints. 

Clint, meanwhile, flies off to spend the night with his kids every Saturday, returning twenty-four hours later in time for a team-building intake of popular culture. When Natasha doesn’t accompany him, she can be found in either her favorite chair with a book or the gym, using the time it will stay unoccupied to pose at the bar, which Bruce only knows because he once walked in on her mid-plié.

He has no idea what Tony’s up to this particular Sunday morning, though seeing as it is Valentine’s Day Bruce thinks it’s a safe bet the engineer is at least out and about; and he has heard from Pietro that Wanda frequently spends this time with Vision, practicing flight maneuvers. 

A month into their joint meditation sessions, Pietro is finally able to keep still for extended periods of time. It was actually Pietro’s idea – he suggested it after his perpetual movement drew the attention of a Hydra operative during one of their last raids across the Pond. Once stateside they finally found the time for Bruce to teach – or at least attempt to teach – the finer art of meditation to the Enhanced. 

Yet as soon as Bruce releases his last breath, the young man usually jumps to his feet, chattering away with pent-up energy. 

Not today, however. Today Pietro remains seated. 

Bruce sees him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth when he looks over. “Something on your mind? Maybe I can help?”

A minute nod. Pietro makes to speak though it takes two tries until he does. “How do you know when you’re in love? Or when you just like someone? What’s the difference?”

Bruce vows to finally stop offering people his help when they look like something is bothering them. He really isn’t that kind of doctor. 

“Ah… Maybe Steve would be better at explaining this?”

But Pietro is already shaking his head. “He brings Stark flowers. That is not the advice I need.”

“Okay.”

“So?”

Bruce blinks. “What was the question again?”

“Love. What does it feel like?”

“Uh,” Bruce says, ever eloquent, and reaches up to rub his neck. It is either that or bury his face in his hands. “I think it feels different for each person? Common signs are increased heart rate, sweaty palms, mild anxiety when in the other person’s company… Generally wanting to spend a lot of time with them, talk to them… Not sure what else I can tell you.”

Pietro is obviously thinking, grey eyes narrowed pensively. “How do I know if someone likes me back?”

That elicits a chuckle from Bruce. “Oh, you’re asking the wrong oblivious idiot there.”

But the kid’s expression is so hopeful and slightly desperate that Bruce sighs, wrecking his brain for anything that might be useful. Is this how overwhelmed and inadequate parents feel?

“Body language is a big factor. If they look you in the eye, or lean towards you, then that’s good, I think. If they’re really listening to you. Teasing, too. I’m sorry, I’m not really good at this.”

“No, that was… fine.” 

Pietro seems to have submerged even deeper in thoughts, giving Bruce the opportunity to wonder whom Pietro might be referring to. There aren’t that many options at the facility, but… 

“Please tell me you’re not talking about Bucky.” Bruce doubts he could handle that amount of drama. 

Thankfully the other man is staring at him with wide eyes and a horrified expression. 

“Good. And you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. But, uh, if you want to talk, I’m here?”

 _Really, Banner, it’s your own fault you get into these messes. You barely know what happened in Switzerland._

“Thank you.” Pietro’s voice pulls him out of his head again. “I will. But not today.” He finally rises to his feet. “See you at breakfast, Bruce.”

“Good running!” Bruce calls after him, because obviously the kid is already at the door. 

Now that one option is out of the picture, and with Pietro asking about the person liking him back Bruce highly doubts it to be either Steve or Tony… well, Bruce has one or two theories. He’ll just have to keep a closer eye on their newest Avenger. 

*

Later that day, after a supposedly romantic walk through the grounds that quickly escalated into a snowball fight between Steve and him, then morphed into full on war when the rest of the team joined them, Tony is getting ready for that afternoon’s hand-to-hand combat training session (slightly delayed due to snow in unfortunate places) when J.J. speaks up. 

“Sir, I have a notification for you in accordance with the Red Queen Protocol.”

“Which one was that again?”

“The one where you, and I quote, ‘spy on your ex to make sure she’s not dating psychopaths’.”

“Ah, that one. Hit me, J.”

“Ms. Potts has booked a car that will take her to an upscale restaurant in Malibu. On the way the car is scheduled to stop at an address that belongs to a certain Juan Múnera Santos, a man she has met on three previous occasions. Tonight marks the fourth.”

“Pattern confirmation; good job, J.” 

“I do as programmed, sir.” 

“Why do you sound so pleased, then?”

“That must be a glitch in my voice modulators, sir.”

“Seriously, it’s like you’re hitting puberty. Next thing you’ll be asking to spend the night with Vision, jeez.”

“Shall I call Ms. Potts?”

“Deflecting, nice one. Wonder who taught you that…” Tony quickly slips into his trainers before Pepper can pick up. 

“Tony, what a surprise, whatever could this be about?” she greets him, only she sounds as if she knows exactly what made him call. 

“What, I can’t check in on my favorite CEO on Valentine’s Day?”

“Except you’re checking in on your ex who has a date.”

Tony decides to forgo subtlety, especially ‘cos he’s just scrolling through what J.J. could find on the man in question. “He seems like a decent guy.”

“He is. He’s a divorced doctor who does regular trips with Médicins Sans Frontièrs, loves art and the opera and brings me hand-picked flowers.”

“Sounds like he has no respect for lawn maintenance.”

“Tony.”

“I just want to make sure you’re safe, Pep. You’re the CEO of a fortune 500 company, that alone means kidnapping risk –”

“And I’m also the only surviving Extremis patient. I can melt handcuffs, Tony, and I keep the bubble thing from Wanda and you on me at all times.”

“I worry.”

“I know.” Pepper is silent for a while. “He’s a really great guy, Tony. He’s only slightly intimidated by me and doesn’t have a problem when I pay for things.”

“How do you know he’s not using you as his sugar – what’s the female equivalent of sugar daddy?”

“I’m definitely not his sugar momma –”

“Ah!”

“He doesn’t need my money, I just like taking the lead for a change –”

“He asked for a donation yet?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” All right, Pep’s starting to sound annoyed, maybe he really should drop it… “How was your Valentine’s Day? I’m surprised you made it out of bed.”

Or he could let her take the lead and change the topic. Fine by him. 

“Well, good Irish catholic boys attend mass, so I did have to let him out of the bedroom at some point.” He hears her laugh softly and relaxes again, ‘cos she’s not actually mad. “And he loved the watch!”

“Of course he did. How was that ever in doubt?”

“I might have intimated I was getting him an island, so that’s setting the expectation bar pretty damn high –”

“Tony, you’re not getting an island. _Another_ island, I have to say –”

“Howard bought that, I had nothing to do with that.”

“Nevertheless. No spending millions on pointless property in tropical places.”

“You suck the fun out of everything, Pep,” he whines, but he’s smiling as he steps into the elevator, equipped with gym clothes and a bottle of water. 

“Yes, and your team sucks the money out of my company.”

“Come on, the quinjets aren’t that expensive –”

“I’m talking about the squadron of Iron Legion SHIELD wants you to add to their resources. Do you have any idea how expensive they are? Never mind their maintenance –”

“- which is fully automated, no personnel required!”

“And how long before Steve mistakes another motorcycle for his shield? They’re prototypes, Tony! Until you start coming through with Project Prometheus and we can generate a little more revenue than we’re spending –”

“I’ve seen the numbers, Pep, we’re still filthy rich!”

“I’m talking about ten years from now, Tony.” 

And _shit_ , that was a growl, Pepper never growls when she’s not dead serious… 

“Aren’t you a paragon of entrepreneurial spirit,” he quips, but it goes ignored. 

“Right now we’re still, as you so aptly put it, ‘filthy rich’,” – Tony can hear the quotation marks – “and the new tax concessions are useful, but between the Maria Stark Foundation, the Stark Relief Fund, the youth shelter, the medical research we’re funding, the Wilson reactors, your pet projects, the Avengers, and now half of SHIELD, I have no idea how I’m supposed to keep this company afloat with only our current product line.”

Tony heaves a sigh, leaning his forehead against the cool interior of the elevator whose doors remain closed even though he has long since reached the designated floor. 

“I’ll think of something, Pep. Don’t I always?”

“You do. But you’ve also been trying for more than six years to make the arc reactor technology commercially viable.”

“Isn’t Richards paying us a boatload of cash for one of his own?”

“Yes, but now the Baxter Building is self-sustaining for the foreseeable future and doesn’t need our input anymore. And until Europe, China, and Asia abandon their own research and buy our tech…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it… I’ll refocus my energies, alright?”

“That’s what a CEO wants to hear on Valentine’s Day.”

“Have fun on your date, Pep.”

“You, too. Oh, and Tony?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t neglect Steve because of this, okay?”

That makes Tony grin even though it’s not a video call. “Oh, not even the end of the world could make me forget him – and no, seventy-two hour workshop binges don’t count!”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Shoo, Tony. You’ll be late for training.”

“Why do you still know my schedule?”

“Because Jarvis Junior likes me.”

“I really gotta check his code,” Tony fake-grouses, and Pepper ends the call on a chuckle, so Tony counts that as a win. 

Too bad the rest of the day doesn’t follow in a similar vein. 

*

“Barton’s already on route to Seattle where we’ll meet up,” Hill informs them on the quinjet after their training was rudely interrupted by the Avengers Alarm. “So far all we know is that the city is being overrun by flying, rabid pigs.”

“Flying pigs?” Sam echoes while Tony is still blinking at the images on his tablet. 

“Large, flying pigs,” Hill corrects before Tony can. 

“Science gone wrong?” he suggests only to have the woman shrug at him. 

“My personal theory is that some would-be teenaged sorcerer or son of a Hydra agent or something got his heart broken and his crush said she’d go out with him on the day that pigs fly, so he took it literally.”

She lets that sink in for a second. 

“It’s kinda sweet.”

Everyone turns towards Steve with incredulous expressions. 

“I mean, in a weird, dangerous way.”

“Yeah, dude, say that in front of Stark, brilliant idea,” Sam scoffs while Rhodey is nodding in agreement. 

“Hey, I’d have more class than flying pigs!” Tony protests, but any further discussion has to be tabled since they have reached Seattle – perks of hypersonic speed and suiting up on the jet. 

As far as villains go… it could be worse. It’s only that giant, floating pigs with a taste for human flesh aren’t much fun to fight, at least in Tony’s humble opinion. 

At any rate they get a few hilarious moments out of the process, including one of an unmasked Winter Soldier saving a group of tweens who lose their fear as soon as they see Barnes’ handsome face. 

Barton, once he arrives, spends half the time cursing sexually frustrated nerds and the other half using the pigs as joyrides. Wanda is herding as many as she can out of the city in the hopes they will revert back to their prior state, while her brother is pulling people out of the way when the others manage to bring one animal down. 

“Officers pulled the suspect off a Greyhound headed to Canada,” Hill updates them an hour into the battle. “Claims they weren’t supposed to grow and go rabid.”

“Gee, I actually gathered that,” Tony hears Steve snark over the coms. 

By the time the spell or whatever it was wears off, two thirds of the army of pigs is dead while the rest have shrunk back to their usual size. 

Hill is dealing with a furious representative of Smithfield Foods, who as it turns out own the pigpen the kid targeted. Their Deputy Director looks about ready to shoot the guy which at least lifts Tony’s mood. 

Also no one died, and those who did get hurt were injured while attempting to instagram the pig that was attacking them, so seriously, Tony would call that _natural selection_ instead of _casualties_ , but no one’s asking him. 

“How gross would it be if I said I’m hungry?” Rhodey wonders once they’re on the flight back, exhausted and partially covered in intestines. 

“Let’s make Pig ‘n A Poke!” Pietro suggests, sounding way too chipper. It’s only when Wanda sniggers next to him that Tony gets that it must be a film or TV reference of sorts. 

He throws some leftover pig he just picked out of his hair at the silver-haired devil, but he of course has no trouble evading it. 

“I could do with some food?” Bruce ventures tentatively, his voice still rough from all the roaring the Other Guy did. Hulk had a blast with the pigs, needless to say. Tony can’t wait for a chance to check YouTube. 

“You did buy all the ingredients for pizza,” Vision reminds them and Natasha wonders from the helm, “We’re still on for movie night?”

Steve smiles tiredly. “Sure. Just don’t take it as an insult if I fall asleep halfway through whatever you picked out.”

“Aye, aye, Cap.”

In the end, Steve doesn’t fall asleep. Even Tony stays up long enough to witness the majority of Avengers cry over the end of ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ only to then be shoved off the sofa for laughing at the earth’s mightiest heroes being reduced to a sniffling ball of emotions by Justin Long and whatshername. 

He and Natasha are the only ones not reaching for tissues (okay, and Vision, but no one expected that to happen). They share a mischievous look. 

No one needs to know that the film came out when Nat was posing as his assistant and got to accompany Pepper and him to the premiere where it was Pepper who handed out tissues. 

Tony grins at her and pulls Steve closer towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a friend of rom-coms, but “He’s Just Not Into You” is my exception. I can highly recommend it :)
> 
> This chapter was fun to write! Hope everyone caught the reference to the Fantastic Four? Just, you know, pointing out they exist. And cyber cookies to everyone who can tell me what “Pig ‘n A Poke” refers to?


	8. Devil in the Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was SO MUCH FUN, seriously :) And maybe a tad self-indulgent. Okay, a _lot_ self-indulgent, at least the entire first half of this chapter… but I promise it will become important in act II, so it’s not entirely frivolous! 
> 
> Please note this chapter includes **slight spoilers for Netflix and Marvel’s Daredevil**. Somewhat based on [this gif set](http://maryjanewtson.tumblr.com/post/119890806258/based-on-daredevil-v2-20-25).  
>  More cyber cookies for anyone who can tell me which fictional characters the new OMC is alluding to :)

The week after Valentine’s Day Tony has to return to Manhattan for two days ‘cos Mike needs a few signatures and the committee in charge of planning the Launch Fair wants to run the final lineup by him, which is something Tony actually catches the meaning of. 

The dinner Friday night to pander to the execs of their top advertisers? Not so much. 

Still, he flies down with minimal complaining and sits through the first batch of meetings Thursday afternoon. The role of Stark Heir doesn’t fit him like a second skin as it used to, and there’s some initial anxiety regarding the keynote speech that’s now officially _less than a week away_ … Not only that, but sleep is even less appealing when his Captain America sized pillow is missing, well… then you get Tony Stark, haunting the empty halls of the tower’s R&D department at five o’clock in the morning. 

His staff’s gonna think the leprechauns visited during the night when they start their shifts, since Tony can’t leave tech alone when it’s lying around and there’s room for quick improvements. 

By the time 6 AM rolls around he’s perched on a chair in the employee lounge (which shares more similarities with a hardware store than a kitchen) with the TV running for background noise. 

Or that’s the plan, until the anchor mentions the Daredevil trial. 

_“It was unclear until the commencement of the initial hearing yesterday whether or not the masked vigilante known as Daredevil would appear at court in person. His council, Hell’s Kitchen based Nelson and Murdock, were tight-lipped about their client’s attendance. You can imagine the surprise, however, when Daredevil did appear in the courtroom, his mask firmly in place.”_

The feed shows the man in question, red and black uniform covering every inch of him except his mouth and eyes. Tony thinks the little horns are a cute touch. 

The case itself, on the other hand, is hilarious: the City of New York, barely rebuilt after the Chitauri attack, was not at all amused when Daredevil’s final confrontation with Wilson Fisk caused severe property damage in Hell’s Kitchen. So now they’re suing Daredevil for several million Dollars. 

It’s a legal precedent no matter how it ends, and the legal community is losing their collective shit. SHIELD, too, is observing with interest. 

Tony’s just wondering how Nelson and Murdock managed to score such a client. 

Sleep deprivation and an excess consumption of coffee and energy drinks have often paved the way for Tony’s most brilliant ideas, so he really shouldn’t be surprised when a sudden flash of inspiration hits as he finishes tinkering with the prototype. 

He puts it back where he found it, scribbles a quick note on an almost blank piece of paper where he details more suggestions for some of the other gadgets lying around he hasn’t tweaked yet, and makes his way down to the legal department. 

There he takes up residence in the waiting area until the first ambitious workaholic second year associate turns up at ten to seven. 

“Mr. Stark?!” 

The young man flails a little, though catches himself immediately. He’s attractive in a Manhattan sort of way, with dark blond hair and blue eyes, and definitely knows where to buy his suits – if not how to wear them. 

“It’s your lucky day, kid!” Tony announces, on his feet a moment later. “Being the first at work for once does not make you the overachieving wonk everyone pretends to be friends with and secretly hates, but the coolest of the bunch, ‘cos I’m stealing you for the morning.”

The associate’s eyes widen, then he literally trips over himself to offer his assistance: “What do you need, Mr. Stark?”

Tony throws a hand around the young man’s shoulders and steers him towards the nearest office. Whoever it belongs to will have to deal with having to work somewhere else for the next few hours. “I need you to draw me up a proposal for a contract…”

*

The associate, who introduces himself as Oliver Specter-Ross (seriously, people need to stop hyphenating), does an impressive job of translating Tony’s woozy thoughts into a legal document.

“I’m expected in marketing,” Tony explains when it’s getting close to 8.30. “I want this presentable by noon. If anyone gives you shit, tell them it’s a directive from the guy whose name’s on all the gadgets. If they’re still not happy, have them call me.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony, kid, come on, I know you got it in you to remember a four-letter name.”

“Tony,” Oliver confirms for the third time, but a lot less star struck than the previous instances.

Tony breezes through the second and last meeting with the committee, puts in his two cents here and there, and waves off Mike’s offer to take him to lunch before returning to legal since he’ll be seeing the nag later for dinner anyway. 

When Tony enters, the floor is buzzing with clerks and paralegals and seriously, how much legal work is there at Stark Industries that the department is this busy Friday at noon? 

He asks Oliver about it when he comes to a halt in front of his desk and a hush falls over the bullpen. 

“Well, we also take on other clients in the field of corporate law and do a considerable amount of pro bono work.”

“Ah. Makes sense. You done?”

Oliver picks up a file from a pile on his left and holds it out with an eager smile. “This has all they need.”

“You kept a copy in house to explain it to your superiors, right?”

Oliver raises an extremely unimpressed eyebrow. “I did go to law school, Tony, I know how to handle legal documents, even if they’re drafts.”

The kid has guts, he notes with mounting respect, ‘cos he used Tony’s first name to impress his peers even though his boss is approaching, sporting a wide smile, strawberry blonde hair, perfectly manicured nails, and a sleek lady suit. 

“Mr. Stark! I heard you’re in Manhattan. I hope our associate handled everything to your satisfaction?”

“Splendidly, ma’am,” Tony replies with his most charming smile. He should probably have looked up this lady’s name before barging in… Well, it’s too late now. “I’m sure his name’s already been put down for partner track, hasn’t it?”

“Of course. Mr. Specter-Ross is one of our rising stars.”

Tony would call bullshit but he’s got places to be, plans to implement, so he settles for patting the kid on the back. 

“I hope it won’t cause you any trouble if I steal him away in the future for this project.”

“Not at all, Mr. Stark. Would you like him to accompany you?”

“Nah, wouldn’t want him to get too behind on his other work.” 

He winks at Oliver, shakes the woman’s hand and waltzes out of the bullpen with gawkers jumping out of his path. 

He buys a hot dog off a cart, intimately aware of the photographers on the other side of the street. They’re keeping their distance so Tony’s not even annoyed, yet he has learnt the hard way to never underestimate paparazzi. Consequently he applies every trick in the spy book to shake any tails he might have acquired as he approaches his target – a legal office in Hell’s Kitchen. 

The street is run-down, with trash bags waiting for collection near the curb, and only the small sign proclaiming “Nelson & Murdock” makes one front door stand out. It’s next to a hardware store and across from a hair studio and a medical office and as shabby as Tony expected.

Now, the office on the other hand – he was sure that’d be bigger. 

It’s not tiny, don’t get him wrong, but it’s got nothing on… basically any other law firm Tony’s ever seen. There’s still residue from the last inscription on the door of whatever function the office had before they took over, for Christ’s sake. 

He enters, eyes immediately drawn to the receptionist’s desk down the hall, visible through the open door. On his left he can spy an imitation of a kitchen (kitchenette or whatever the appropriate lingo is), to his right there’s a sort of conference area with a large, much-abused table, a few chairs and a sofa near the entrance. 

The reception holds just one dingy desk, lots of overflowing drawers and two doors leading off to each of the partners’ office, or at least Tony guesses ‘cos the blinds are almost fully closed.

The receptionist is young and pretty, red hair cascading over her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear as she is telling off a very unfortunate soul via telephone. 

“Just one second,” she tells Tony, doing that thing where people on the phone glance up and seemingly look at you but never take in enough to tell the difference between the President and Sasha Baron Cohen. 

Tony strolls into the hall, wondering if the girl’s the kind of person to squeal when she recognizes him or whether she’ll go for quiet awe. 

“No, it’s not a matter of money,” the woman explains in the other room. “Nelson and Murdock don’t do any talk show appearances; it’s an office policy. Now please excuse me, I have a client waiting.”

The _clack-clack-clack_ of heels on cheap wooden flooring announces her arrival, so Tony puts on another charming smile, shifting the stack of papers onto his left arm to be able to extend his right in greeting. 

“Sorry about the delay; I’m Karen Page, welcome to – oh!”

Quiet gasp of astonishment. He likes her already. 

“Tony Stark. I don’t have an appointment, but I’m sure you can make an exception?”

“Wha – I mean, sure,” she stammers, blushing a little, then clears her throat. “Can you tell me the reason for your visit?”

“I have an offer for one of your clients.”

“Okay, uh, I’ll be right back. Would you like a drink?”

“I doubt you got the brands I like.”

Her reply comes instantaneously, and in a scathing tone on top of that. “Hell’s Kitchen’s tap water actually isn’t that bad.”

Tony laughs, pleasantly surprised by the snark. “I guess; but this won’t take long.”

He gives her a pointed look and she clackers back into the reception area where her bosses are already waiting. Tony can hear them talking in hushed voices for half a minute before all three of them join him on the other side. 

“I’m Mr. Nelson,” says the plump fellow with the long blond hair, nodding at the second man whom Tony also saw on television, standing just as tall and once again wearing sunglasses indoors, “and this is Mr. Murdock.”

Tony shakes Nelson’s hand and turns towards the second man to do the same, yet Murdock shows no sign of seeing his upturned palm. 

It only takes a beat until Tony puts the pieces together. 

“And I was already calling you a douchebag in my head for wearing sunglasses indoors in February,” Tony jokes, positively surprised when it elicits a smile from the blind attorney. 

“You caught on faster than most.”

“Well, I’ve got a reputation as a pretty smart guy.”

“And what brings this smart guy to our office?”

“An offer to one of your clients.”

“Which one?” Page chimes in, clearly intrigued. 

“Daredevil.”

Tony does not miss the pregnant pause and exchange of looks between the two lawyers and the woman. 

“What kind of offer are we talking about?” Nelson inquires, tone tinged with suspicion. 

Tony waves the printouts. “All in here. Of course I’ve got no braille version; sorry ‘bout that.” He hands the two copies to Page and Nelson and dives into his explanation. “Anyway, I heard about the trial you’ve got going on, and I couldn’t help wondering what Daredevil’s plan was in case the City actually wins the case – which I think is unlikely, but you never know. So I’d like to offer him – I’m assuming it’s a him; correct me in case I’m mis-gendering the guy; heard that’s a big faux-pas nowadays – I’d like to offer him a deal: Stark Industries covers his legal fees, including any penalties he might be settled with. In exchange for that we get the right to register Daredevil as a trademark and sell stuff with his likeness on it, produce some franchise, the works.”

Predictably, silence reigns after his reveal. 

He goes on. “Take your time to think it over; the file has the name of your contact at legal, he can get a hold of me if necessary. Maybe do that by Tuesday – I don’t know if you’ve heard but there’s this launch thing, kind of a big deal at SI. Speaking of which,” now that his hands are free of heavy legal documents he can reach inside his suit pocket to retrieve the four tickets he brought with him. 

He holds them out to Karen who reacts quickly enough and takes them, mouth falling open as she takes in the inscriptions. “These are –”

“Four passes to the Launch Fair. I really thought you’d have more employees but what the hell, take a girlfriend or boyfriend. Those are valid all four days, no matter what you decide about my offer.”

“Why are you doing this?” Nelson finally asks and Tony just barely smothers the exclamation of “He speaks!” that’s on the tip of his tongue.

Tony shrugs, shoving his hands into this pockets, then remembers that Murdock can’t see. 

“People like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for whatever mysterious reason – okay, probably ‘cos he brought down a power-hungry chairman of Bad Guys Inc. and saves people from getting mugged, there’s that – and someone’s gotta produce the children’s costumes for Halloween, right?”

“You only want money?” Even despite the sunglasses Tony knows Murdock is squinting at him. “What about his identity?”

“Why would I want his identity?” Tony chuckles. “Can’t say I’m not curious whether he’s a hero of the human or mutant or whatever variety, but my priority is the commercial potential of his brand.”

Page narrows her eyes. “Which is so great you’re willing to risk having to pay millions to the city on his behalf?”

Tony smirks at the woman. “Honey, you wouldn’t believe how much we make off the Avengers merchandise.”

“What if our client wants to meet you himself?” Murdock throws into the room and now Tony’s intrigued. _Huh._

“I’ll be in town ‘til tonight. Got a dinner in Midtown, then I’ll fly back. I’ll probably get to the tower’s private side entrance around ten, if he wants to drop by for a bedtime story.”

Page and Nelson all look to Murdock then, clearly and immediately deferring the decision to him. The blind man nods, even allows for a smile as he shakes Tony’s hand goodbye, and sees (well, walks? Is that politically correct?) him out of the office. 

Tony commits the guy’s features to memory and pulls out his phone as soon as he’s out of the building; he’s got a theory to test.

*

That theory seems to become more and more likely throughout the afternoon, especially when Tony returns form a tedious and way too long dinner with stuffy business men who think the size of their wallets can buy them Tony’s friendship – his time, granted, but that’s all they get – and where was he? 

Oh, right. Masked vigilante, appearing next to him outside his private entrance which is hidden behind wildlife and a fence from the busy streets of NYC. 

“Ah, they reached you. How does one reach you, anyway? Work phone? Hotline? Maybe six-six-six?”

Daredevil just stares at him in the dim light. It’s dark enough that Tony can barely make out his eyes and the dark red of his costume appears almost black this way. He’s got maybe one and a half inches on Tony, so it’s not even that imposing. 

“Fine, no small talk. You wanna come in or are we doing this here? Good thinking positioning yourself with the back to the security camera over there, by the way. Kudos, really.”

“I only want to make one thing clear: I’m never going to work for Stark Industries.”

Huh, the kid really is good – his voice is a bit different, though not modulator-different. 

“Relax, buddy. We just want the right to paint a stylized version of you on phone cases and headphones. You’ll never even have to do a photo shoot ‘cos we’ll play the mysterious abstract art angle. You’ll never be expected to do anything for us; though we’re open to stuff if you want. Just don’t think you’re the type.”

Daredevil apparently thinks this over for a moment, then inclines his head, already turning to leave again. Tony should just let him go… Too bad self-restraint has never really been on Tony’s list of character traits, especially not when he has a chance to show off. 

Which is why he calls after the vigilante, “Say hi to your pal Spider-Man for me, will you, Mr. Murdock?”

To his credit Daredevil only freezes for a split second and then doesn’t run off. Instead he is inside Tony’s space immediately and has him pushed up against the wall and _holy shit_ , this was a lot more fun when the super strong blind guy with apparent impulse-control issues was a few feet away. 

“You said you weren’t interested in my identity?” Murdock growls, not adjusting his voice anymore.

“Not to snitch, jeez, let me down you rascal, that’s a seven thousand dollar suit!”

“Oh, am I inconveniencing you, Mr. Stark?”

“You know you’re one vocal command away from being blasted across this,” Tony glances at the narrow space, “okay, just blasted away from me; you’ll probably hit a wall or a tree. Ain’t gonna be pretty, I can tell you that much. I’d also love to brag about how I figured it out to you, how’s that sound?”

It takes a while but eventually Daredevil lets him down, remaining close and tense while Tony launches his grand tale of Why Tony Is Actually A Genius. 

“Back at what you guys call office I thought you – I mean lawyer-you – looked familiar so I went back to the limited footage from the trial and ran facial recognition software. Obviously the Daredevil in the courtroom wasn’t you ‘cos you were sitting right next to him, but I went digging and found a few clips that show the Daredevil moving. Really, if you have the right programs – or an AI, in my case – it’s obvious that the guy in the costume from yesterday isn’t the same guy who’s been running around saving people in Hell’s Kitchen. But do you know whose movements the guy’s match? Spider-Man. Then I remembered that the Devil’s original costume hid his eyes – you know, that black one? Really, the jump from ‘blind lawyer’ to ‘actual masked superhero with crazy martial art skills’ wasn’t that difficult.” 

“I’m no hero.”

Tony blinks. “That’s what you’re taking away from this?”

“I do what I have to in order to protect the city, and I can’t do that as Matt Murdock.”

“Yeah, no arguments against that from me.”

Murdock steps closer, pulling himself up almost unperceptively. “I need your word that you won’t betray my identity to SHIELD.”

“Done. Like I said, I was curious, but it’s not like the Registration Act passed already.”

Murdock purses his lips in blatant disgust. “Not your idea, then?”

Tony shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong – I endorse the part where people have to register, but the clause about disclosing everyone’s identity to the public? Total bullshit; serves no one. Now that SHIELD’s back in the UN’s good graces and operating internationally an agency-internal database will be just fine.”

“I work alone, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, and you keep doing that, buddy. But hey, SHIELD could help – we’ve got new recruitment drives going, and you got any idea how freaking long it takes to pass a law in this country? The rate you’re getting your ass kicked in Hell’s Kitchen you’ll be lucky to survive until the President signs it. Public hearings haven’t even started yet.”

Murdock seems to have said everything he wants to on the subject, so he remains silent. 

“We good, then? You gonna take the deal?”

Daredevil’s lips pull into a smirk underneath his cowl. “My lawyers will let you know.”

Tony barks out a laugh and nods at the man, touching his palm to the camouflaged panel next to the equally inconspicuous door. When he turns around again Matt Murdock is nowhere to be seen. 

*

It’s the following Tuesday (t-40 hrs ‘til the keynote, _holy shit_ ) when his phone rings. 

Tony is in the communal kitchen looking for more coffee ‘cos he might have managed four hours of shut-eye last night but that didn’t really help his general state of anxiety-induced sleep-deprivation. So when Pepper’s name flashes across the display he almost doesn’t pick up. 

On second thought, that might have been the better choice given what actually comes out of his mouth, which prompts Barnes who’s eating a sandwich at the kitchen island to laugh at him: “Please tell me there’s been an unfortunate incident at Flushing Meadows so we’ll have to cancel my speech?” 

“We’ve been over this, Tony, you’ll be fine,” Pepper promises for the gazillionth time in the past week. 

“So why’re you calling me?”

“Care to explain why product development is designing Daredevil merchandise?”

“To increase revenue?”

“Tony.”

“What?” He waves the coffee pot around, almost spilling his sacred elixir, which is not good at all so he pours himself a cup before he can break anything. “You said we need to plan ahead and since I’ve hit a dead end with Prometheus I figured many a little makes a mickle!”

“Well, a _mickle_ is all we’ll get once the City of New York wipes the floor with those lawyers and we are the ones who have to pay off some vigilante’s penalty.”

“Listen, they’re never gonna win! You can’t fine a superhero for a few broken eggs while turning a thug into an omelet!”

“I think you might wanna work on your metaphors, Stark,” Barnes comments with a grin, and Tony sticks out his tongue at him like the mature 44-year-old he is. 

“Tony, you can’t know that for sure,” Pepper argues on the line. “The public is all over the problem of accountability and super-humans. They want to make an example out of him.”

“So let them; weren’t you talking about the long run and stuff? Daredevil products are a thing of the future, Peps!”

“You remember the times you didn’t take an interest in the company? Can we go back to that?”

“It’ll work out, don’t you worry. Shouldn’t you be in a meeting or something?”

“Yes, which I postponed when an associate from our legal department in New York cc’ed me in an email to product development. You let an _associate_ draw up the paperwork? We have an army of more than qualified lawyers–” 

“Of whom no one was around at ten to seven on that Friday morning. I didn’t wanna be late for the meeting with Mike, after all.”

Across the continent, Pepper heaves a sigh. “Just run it by me first if you want to do something like this again? Please?”

“Sure!”

“Good. I’ll see you in two days.”

The call cuts off after they say their goodbyes and Tony gets himself a refill. 

“She giving your balls back anytime soon?” Barnes sneers, looking up from his tablet. For his age the guy’s surprisingly apt at handling tech (to which their resident Terminator replied, “Hydra taught me” in his most supreme deadpan when Tony made a quip his first week at the facility). 

“Ha-fucking-ha, Barnes. I’d like to see you handling twenty-first century women.”

Bucky picks up a piece of leftover lettuce from his cleared plate and chucks it at him, though Tony ducks it and drains his cup while the Soldier goes back to whatever he’s looking at on his device. 

Steve’s been called into some meeting so their training schedule’s a little lax this morning. Tony did some accuracy training on the shooting range but bailed when he almost fell asleep holding the gun, and Barnes should be completing his mission report from yesterday’s quick and easy mission (a Boston PD raid uncovered a stash of stolen Chitauri tech which SHIELD assumed command over as soon as they heard of it). 

By the looks of it, however, Barnes is not filling out forms. Okay, Rhodey’s not doing much of anything either after the snack break he’s begun half an hour ago that ended with him on the sofa watching ESPN. 

“What the hell is a Bucky Bear?” Barnes shouts just as Rhodey’s bringing his dishes back into the kitchen and looking longingly at Tony’s pot of coffee. 

“Bucky Bear’s something like a Cumberbitch,” Tony explains, clutching the pot to his chest when Rhodey reaches for it. 

“It’s Cumbercollective, Tony, now give me some coffee.”

“Nope, it’s mine! And it says a lot about your weird obsession with British TV shows that you know that.”

“Hey, just because I’m still waiting for season four -”

“Just say the word and I’ll hack into the British Broadcasting… Company?”

“Corporation,” Rhodey corrects, abandoning his quest for Tony’s pot and settling for a smaller cup form the automated coffee maker. “And thank you, but I’ll suffer with the other fifteen million fans.”

“Your bad.”

“Stark?” Barnes interrupts, but why – oh yeah, Bucky Bear. 

“You remember that Valentine’s mission?” Tony asks.

“I still can’t eat pork.”

“You and me both, Barnes. Anyway, you lost your facemask and there were pictures, so now you’ve got a fan club ‘cos you’re, I don’t know, ruggedly handsome and broken and a reformed Hydra assassin. Chicks dig that. And some guys. And some people who don’t identify with the categories set forth by mainstream gender binaries.”

Tony loves how the vein in Bucky’s neck throbs every time he tries to confuse him with post-millennial concepts. Though to be fair, Barnes just doesn’t care about labels, as far as Tony has been able to gather. 

“So a Bucky Bear is, what?”

“A Winter Soldier fan.”

“Shoulda fastened that fucking mask tighter,” Bucky grumbles, scowling at whatever page he dug up that prompted the question. 

The Winter Soldier’s actual identity, as in, James Barnes of the Howling Commandoes, childhood best friend of Steve Rogers– made the headlines the day after Valentine’s since, you know, even gossip rag reporters have eyes and can match the Soldier’s face to Bucky’s through pictures found everywhere on the internet. So SHIELD had no choice but to release a statement. Barnes and Steve’s initial dismay quickly dissipated after the public leapt at the sob story of two childhood friends reunited after almost a century. Tony gives it six months ‘til Netflix announces a so-called ‘original’ series. 

“Sirs,” J.J. says, drawing their attention. “Captain Rogers is requesting an immediate team meeting in the living room.”

“Okay,” Rhodey says slowly. “What kind of meeting was he in?”

Tony shrugs. “One of the supervisory committee was there as far as I know. Maybe they’re going to try and implement matching uniforms for all Avengers?”

“Which you’d never do, right, Tones?”

“What, and pass up the chance of putting you in skin-tight spandex?” he teases, intimately aware of how Rhodey hates the functional underwear for the War Machine suit the military equipped him with. Good thing he’s friends with a billionaire genius, isn’t it?

Steve storms in a couple of minutes later, fuming more than Tony ever remembers seeing him. He doesn’t even kiss Tony hello, which makes him pout a little before he follows his boyfriend with his last (seriously!) cup of coffee. 

“Where are the others?” Steve snarls and _woah_ , sleep-deprivation does nothing to curb Tony’s libido at the moment. _Note to self: angry Cap is sexy Cap._

“Agent Romanoff and Ms. Maximoff are in the elevator; Doctor Banner, Agent Barton, Mr. Maximoff and Mr. Wilson are already on this floor and Vision will arrive one elevator after Misses Romanoff and Maximoff.”

“Thank you, J.” 

“Not at all, Captain Rogers.”

“Why’re you still calling him Captain, though?” Tony wonders in an attempt to distract himself from Steve’s heaving chest. 

“I was not aware his rank had changed, sir.”

“No; I mean now that we’re together, shouldn’t that warrant a moniker or something?”

“Captain Rogers, would you like me to call you something else?”

“It’s fine,” is Steve’s brusque reply. 

“Jeez, what crawled up your ass?” 

“Didn’t we say no sex talk in public?” Clint chimes in, entering the living room with Sam, Bruce and Pietro. 

“Admit it, Barton, you’re living vicariously through Steve and me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you guys aren’t as vanilla as they come, eh?”

“Guys!” Steve interrupts in his ‘I Am Captain America And You Shall Listen’ tone. “We have things to discuss.”

“Take a seat, everyone,” Natasha orders, having arrived by now along with Wanda and Vision, and they all know better than to disobey both Widow and Cap. 

The communal living room is an agglomeration of sofas and armchairs, all positioned in a way that makes watching TV amazing (it’s a huge flat screen; Tony remembers the specifications he made on the initial blueprints which read ‘size matters’), and the team disperses. 

Tony usually ends up next to Steve on the loveseat but today the man is taking up an armchair – presumably ‘cos this is Cap business, not movie night. Rhodey slides in next to him instead while the Maximoffs take the large sofa along with Clint and Bruce, the twins in the middle with the men on either side. Tony is happy to note that Wanda is sitting next to Bruce without putting more space between them than necessary – the two had a rocky start, admittedly, but they seem to have overcome their differences. 

Natasha shares the second love-seat with Sam while Vision and Bucky take the chairs across from Steve who exhales audibly once they’re all seated and looking at him. 

“I just had a meeting with Anne Weaver from the Council and a Senator from Nebraska. They want me to appear in front of the Senate representing the Avengers Initiative.”

“For the public hearings?” Rhodey asks. 

“Which hearings?” 

Pietro’s question derails them briefly as Rhodey explains about the Superhuman Registration Act and how the United States Committee On Armed Services is currently debating the bill and working on the final draft which will then be put on the Senate’s calendar. 

“When they pass it, the entire process starts over in the House of Representatives and when they pass it, it goes to the President,” Rhodey concludes only to have Sam add, “Yeah, but only if it’s the same bill; if not the Senate’s got to vote on it again.”

“Be that as it may,” Steve raises his voice, making the others fall silent, “I’m going to speak at the hearing and I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page since I have to represent the team.”

Tony nods. “As long as they make the resulting registry only accessible to the government, then we’re good.” 

He really didn’t expect the reaction he receives. 

“What?!”

“Hell no!” 

“You mean you’re in favor of this?” Steve seems genuinely surprised and Tony tilts his head at him. 

“We need control – you’ve seen what Nitro could do or what that Mutant from two weeks ago could do. We need government oversight on this.”

“It’s a crass invasion of people’s rights!” Steve protests. 

“To, what, blow up schools?” 

“You can’t force superheroes to work for the government –”

“Which this bill doesn’t, come on –”

“Oh, sorry, it just requires them to submit to training –”

“Which is a good thing, Cap –”

“You can’t force someone to use their powers, damn it!” 

“Captain, Tony,” Bruce says in that terse and infinitely controlled voice of his that never fails to give Tony the shivers and shut him up. “This isn’t helping.”

“I’m supposed to speak for all Avengers,” Steve begins, but Tony’s got the solution right there. 

“Good thing I’ve got my own hearing.”

“What.”

“Cap, I’m partially funding SHIELD who’re gonna have to do most of the heavy lifting if this bill passes, especially if Xavier remains as uncooperative as he’s proven himself this month which, let’s be honest, he’s probably gonna be. Why wouldn’t they call on me to speak?”

Steve’s scowl could make kittens cry. “I’ll exclude you from my statement then.”

“Great!”

“Uh…” Rhodey looks conflicted. 

“What, War Machine?”

“It’s just… Having some means of control over superhumans is a good idea, wouldn’t you say?”

“We have SHIELD, and the Supervisory Council, and the UN,” Steve tries to dismiss, but Rhodey follows up. 

“Who aren’t doing enough. It’s fine when you’ve got guys like Spider-Man or Daredevil, but what when the next Nitro turns up? What about the Brotherhood? SHIELD has them down as a terrorist cell, Captain. We need to know who we’re up against.”

“By sticking triangles on people’s IDs?” Natasha pipes up. “Because that’s on the agenda, too.”

“People already fear us enough – why add fuel to the fire?” Wanda asks, causing Bruce to contribute. 

“Because they _should_ fear us. I’m not saying we have to imprison people, but we should know who might be a threat and who might not.”

“If you force them to reveal themselves,” Steve jumps back in, “they’ll fight against that system more than ever. It’s a bulletproof way to make super-humans hate the government, just like the Mutant Registration Act did ten years ago.”

“That’s ‘cos that act actually took away rights,” Tony argues. “This one’s not doing that.”

“Oh, so holding a gun to people’s heads and telling them to get in line and register isn’t curtailing rights?”

Steve’s tone brooks no arguments and Tony sure as hell isn’t backing down from his either. Everyone surely knows it but in the end it’s Sam who calls for a truce. 

“How about Steve goes to the hearing and makes it clear that the Avengers are not in agreement over this and that he’s just speaking for himself? And maybe me?”

“And me,” Nat says immediately. Bucky is nodding faintly, though he looks like he’s itching to consult Google for more info on this, not unlike Clint. 

Vision’s eyes are narrowed, which worries Tony a bit if he’s being honest. 

Steve seems hard-pressed to start up another discussion though eventually he sighs, brow furrowed. “Fine. Anyone wanting to throw in their hat with me please do that before March 16th.” He shakes his head. “Now, I believe we’ve got a training session to get to?”

They all mumble various versions of assent, after which Steve immediately gets up and storms out of the room, not sparing Tony one single glance. 

“Anyone else got the feeling I should sit this one out?” he asks into the room, though Rhodey is already patting his shoulder. 

“You guys can have your domestic after the training, alright?”

“Yeah, Stark – first row ain’t pretty, huh?” Barnes jeers, so Tony throws a pillow at him with a smirk. 

“We’re two adult men, Barnes, we can compartmentalize.”

“Whatever you say…”

Yet when Tony follows the rest of the team out of the room and down to the training room, he can’t shake a nasty feeling that’s tugging at the back of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this took some doing! Fun fact: whenever I write an ensemble scene with all Avengers, I forget at least one of them in the first draft. 
> 
> **I’d like to do a poll!** Whose side are you on after this chapter? Let me know in the comments, I’m curious :)
> 
> PS: If anyone is interested, these are some of the posts and articles that helped me figure out the political side (for this chapter and those to come): [x](http://www.quora.com/Who-was-more-right-in-the-Marvel-Civil-War-Tony-Stark-or-Steve-Rogers), [x](http://robot6.comicbookresources.com/2010/02/political-pundits-on-civil-war-iron-man-was-right/), and [x](http://firedoglake.com/2010/02/12/captain-america-has-a-civil-libertarian-bent-but-iron-man-was-right/). 
> 
> Next up: the fallout… yay?


	9. Compartments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly short, especially considering some of the later ones, but it marks the end of Act I and I didn’t want to ruin that. Hope the content makes up for it!
> 
>  **Big, big warnings** for alcoholism, Howard’s A+ Parenting, and (S)Tony Feels.

_Compartmentalize, my ass,_ Tony thinks and takes another sip of whisky. Aggressively. 

He’s in the facility’s workshop, which feels almost as much like home as the one in the tower. The only thing missing are his robots. Maybe he should fly them in… 

The reason he might even prefer this one to the other is that he never instated a “no booze in the workshop” rule like he has in Manhattan. And when Captain Sorehead decided he’d rather keep acting like a bitch instead of acknowledging Tony’s presence after training, the lack of said rule practically became Tony’s life savior. 

“To passive aggression!” he toasts, clicking his glass against the prototype engine in front of him that’s still not functioning the way Tony intends it to. 

See, he invented this amazing energy saving technology that keeps entire buildings self-sufficient, yet it’s fucking expensive to build for the market. So far, only Reed Richards and some sheikhs were actually able to afford one, plus there’s the tower in LA and two with Stark Industries’ Asian offices. Meanwhile, Google’s stalling and some other Silicon Valley giants are citing lack of funds. Which is bullshit, and everyone knows it. 

But well, can’t solve the energy crisis if no one can afford the tech to help, right?

So Tony is trying to build a cheap, reliable engine that’s running on arc reactor technology. Once the prototype is done Stark Industries can open negotiations with car manufacturers and make them adapt the SI engine as standard for their vehicles. First, though, Tony needs to figure out how to adapt the freaking tech first.

 _Okay, too many firsts._ Tony shakes his head in the hopes the movement will clear away the fuzziness spreading through his mind but to no avail. 

Might be drunker than he initially thought. 

“Sir, Captain Rogers is approaching the workshop.”

Tony thinks he’s going to cry. “Brilliant. Warn him?”

“Already did, sir.”

“’s why you’re my favorite, J.”

Steve appears in the doorway, takes one look at him and immediately gets this sour look on his face, the one he’s wearing when they act like five-year-olds during training sessions with Colonel Danvers watching, or when they throw spring rolls at each other across the kitchen island. 

“I see J.J. wasn’t kidding.”

“He rarely is,” Tony says, though it might be a bit slurred. Sounds fine in his head, anyway. “Just programmed him for sass, sorry.”

Steve uncrosses his arms, which seems to take him a lot of effort. 

“I should say sorry.”

Tony blinks. “Huh?”

“I was mad. That didn’t give me the right to ignore you.”

“Wasn’t nice, no.”

“Do you really think this bill is a good idea?”

 _Jeez_ , Cap’s pleading look could melt Hitler’s heart… or wait, did it? Is that how he defeated the Red Skull? Tony giggles. 

“What’s funny?”

“Uh, nothing, sorry… I mean, yeah. The bill, that is. A good idea. Without the mandatory public reveal, though, ‘cos that’s just fashi… faci… just too much.”

Steve is closer, suddenly. Or did Tony just miss him taking a step? What he’s not missing, _no sir_ , is the glare he’s currently on the receiving end of. 

“You draw the line at outing someone against their will? That’s your limit?”

Tony shrugs and pours another couple of fingers of whisky. “Want one?”

“No.” Steve’s tone is clipped. “Don’t you see how constricting that law is? Even if they cut some amendments it’ll be Project Insight all over again.”

“Which you destroyed. That’s your plan for the bill, too?”

“If I have to.”

“People want security, Steve.”

“They want freedom, too.”

“They don’t wanna live in fear of some… I don’t know, Nitro two-point-oh blowing up their schools and houses. Supervision through the Council is nice an’ all, but it’s not near enough. It needs to be enough.”

Tony looks at Steve and for a second he sees the dying doppelganger whose shield lay at his elbow, split in two, while an army of aliens descended on earth. 

He closes his eyes briefly and it’s his Steve again, his Steve who’s not looking very happy either. 

“I’m going to speak my mind at the hearing,” he states, sounding like he suspects it to be a great revelation of intent, which it is not. 

“I figured,” Tony says. “SHIELD’s not gonna be happy about that.”

“I don’t care. I have to stand up for what I think is right.”

“You do that, Captain Righteous.” Steve rolls his eyes, crossing his arms again and Tony decides he’s done with this conversation before it spirals out of control completely. “So, anyway… You guys coming to the Launch Fair?”

Steve stares at him for a moment with his brow furrowed as he’s switching gears. Yeah, inebriated Tony’s mental leaps are the stuff of legends.

“As Avengers or your friends?”

“Well, both? I mean I’m doing the keynote alone; still no idea what exactly I’m gonna say ‘cos I keep rewriting my speech but anyway – there’s an opening party? Thursday night? Or, you know, you guys could join the stage show on Saturday? M’sure the guys can squeeze you in.”

Why’s Steve’s jaw clenched? Why’s he back to glaring? 

“You’re asking me this now? Two days before the event?”

“What? You’re already scheduled for Sunday, I figured we could –”

“We’re not here so you can exploit us for PR, Tony!”

“I’m not!” Tony gesticulates and spills a bit of his drink over his hand, _fuck_ , that’s expensive whisky… 

“Yes, you are.”

“But you agreed to attend the after party! And that ceremony thing! Why not do more?”

“I agreed to that because Pepper called me three weeks in advance and asked nicely, not off-handedly while she’s trying to get out of a serious conversation. And drunk.”

“This has nothing to do with my state of intoci… intoxicion?”

“Yeah, I think you had enough,” Steve decides, making a grab for his glass, and _woah, not okay_. 

“Hands off, jeez, that’s mine!”

Steve holds up his palms though the glint in his eyes practically screams he’s not done yet so Tony downs the remaining alcohol before the super-soldier actually steals it from him. 

_Christ_ , he just wants to drink in peace. 

“I think I’ll fly back tonight instead of tomorrow. Give us all some space,” Tony announces, wandering off towards where he thinks he left his phone. “J., locate my phone.”

“The other end of the room, sir.”

Tony walks past Steve whose expression is even darker than two seconds ago. Seriously, he should be glad Tony’s making his escape. 

“You can’t fly back like this.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Hell yes, I can, Tony,” Steve growls. “You’d be a danger in the suit right now.” 

“No, I –” Okay, Cap’s got a point ‘cos the suit won’t let him operate it after his blood alcohol surpasses particular levels. “You know what, J.J. makes for a wonderful pilot.”

Steve runs a hand across his face. “I’ll fly you back.”

“What, you my nanny now?”

“I’m your partner and I want to make sure you get to Manhattan in one piece.”

And _that_ brings Tony up short. “Oh.” He does his best to imitate a goldfish then, parting and closing his lips a couple of times before he manages, “Boyfriend too juvenile?”

Steve shrugs, derailing Tony’s deflection somewhat. 

“Do you need to pack anything?” he asks then, and it takes Tony a heartbeat to connect it to the suggestion Steve made not five seconds ago. 

“No, just my phone here.” He waves the device, probably looking as dumb as he feels right now. 

The flight back is eerily silent. Tony forcibly smothers all other requests and questions and ideas by biting his lip as hard as he can without drawing blood, just to make sure he doesn’t give Steve another reason to be mad at him. 

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles before reaching for the button to open up the quinjet’s cockpit but a hand closing around his left wrist stops him. 

When he turns around Steve’s not glaring. His eyes are softer than they’ve been since the team meeting and his lips are even relaxed enough that they’re more than just a thin line. 

“Sleep tight,” Steve whispers before leaning in and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. It’s fleeting yet firm, and Tony’s throat goes dry. 

“You, too,” he rasps, and then gets the hell out of the quinjet. Steve only takes off after Tony is safely inside and halfway through the door out of the hanger. 

He climbs the stairs (only stumbling twice, so hooray for his enduring sense of balance) and makes a beeline for the bar. It’s always stocked so Tony doesn’t even need to compromise for cheaper liquor. 

Three glasses later he feels better, albeit a little wobbly on his feet which is why he relocates to one of the chairs with the bottle and the glass filled with grade A ice cubes.

No matter how many sips he takes, however, he can’t get Steve’s voice out of his head. 

_Yeah, I think you had enough._

Something about this particular turn of phrase irks him, as if he’s heard it before in a movie or a show but can’t quite make the connection. 

_You can’t tell me what to do._

Or maybe that’s what’s tripping him up? 

_“Put the wrench down, Dad, you’re bleeding, look –”_

_“You can’t tell me what to do, son!”_

_“Jeez, Dad, fine, wreck the prototype, why should I care.”_

Oh.

That’s why it sounds so familiar. 

The sudden realization sends a wave of nausea over Tony, accumulating in the pit of his stomach and churning his intestines in a way that has him flying out of his chair and into the small bathroom hidden behind the bar. 

He retches until all he can taste is bile, clutching the ceramic of the toilette with aching fingers. It flushes automatically when he slides to the cool floor, resting his temple against the tile and glancing up towards the ceiling. Right, he’s never alone. 

Which is actually why he built JARVIS, really, kudos to seventeen-year-old him’s sense for sustainability. 

But yeah. _Howard._ Even from the grave he haunts him. Just great. 

How often did Tony listen to his mother shout at Howard that he’s had enough? Okay, maybe four times, ‘cos after being shipped off to boarding school Tony only returned home for the summer and even then he mostly stayed away from his parents when they were both in the same room or even the same wing of the mansion. 

Still, that doesn’t change the fact that Tony knew what’s going on, that he didn’t try to… even today he has no fucking idea what he might have tried. Either way, it didn’t work. Nothing he ever did made a difference, so he ignored the problem just like Howard ignored him for most of his teenage years. 

His mother tried, though. For quite a while, anyway… 

Tony swallows, wincing at the taste. He heaves himself up, flips the lid closed and splashes his face with cold water in the sink before rinsing his mouth. He could probably do with a shower.

He reaches his suite with little problem, sheds his clothes and turns the spray as hot as he can stand it, then quickly adjusts the temperature when the heat begins to make him dizzy. 

His bones feel heavy, which complicates drying off since his movements are sluggish but after what feels like an hour he is dry, wearing a fresh pair of underwear and a ratty old t-shirt to sleep in. 

He sinks down onto the edge of the bed and cradles his face in his hands. 

If it weren’t for him, his mother would have left Howard a few short years into their marriage. 

That’s the truth. And maybe the drinking wasn’t the only reason, but it was at least a huge fucking part of the reason. Too bad Tony was there, really. His Mom could have done without… without all that, only to be killed in a car crash. Assassination, whatever. 

He and Steve don’t have a kid, though. They’re not even married. Hell, they’re not even out to the public yet. There’s literally _nothing_ tethering them together except their feelings, and once those dry up on Steve’s side there’ll be nothing left to prevent the failure Tony has been having nightmares about. 

Thing is, Tony can’t change some things – he’ll always need J.J. to remind him of anniversaries, there’ll always be strings of time where he’ll shut himself away in the workshop and be a genius, and he’ll always have a problem with being himself instead of, you know, who he thinks the other person wants him to be. 

But. 

But… This? This entire mess of slurred words and stupid suggestions and puking his guts out ‘cos he’s not used to that much booze anymore? (Shut up, that’s why he was sick; had nothing to do with sudden flashbacks to shitty parental figures.)

This he could change. 

No, not just could – he can. 

_Fuck._ He actually can, can’t he? People do that, right? Stop drinking, go cold turkey, something about steps or meetings or therapy and sobriety chips? 

“J.?”

“Yes, sir?”

“New mission. You listening?”

“Always, sir.”

Tony smiles, even though it hurts his sore jaw. Encouraged, he takes a deep breath. “On Monday I’ll stop drinking. For good.”

“May I ask why not as of now, sir?”

Yeah, he should’ve seen that question coming. “It’s… come on, J., you know I won’t get through the Fair without a drink or two! I’m already turning my image around a hundred and eighty degrees – can’t have people gossiping about why I’m not drinking the champagne.”

“If you are certain, sir.”

“The fuck I am!”

“Apologies.”

“No, buddy, you don’t – I shouldn’t have shouted. Or cussed at you. Jeez, I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

“Is that a rhetorical question, sir, or do you want me to calculate –”

“Rhetorical, J., seriously, I can’t even tell if that was you joking or actually asking or…” 

_Or trying to lighten the mood,_ ‘cos that’s definitely something Jarvis might have done, so J.J. might think in similar circuits. 

“Anyway, I need you to compile a, a… a manual or something. Strategies that’ll help me stay sober, ‘cos I don’t think gradually reducing my intake’s gonna cut it this time around.”

J. probably has entire graphs detailing how Tony’s drinking habits have fluctuated over time, complete with external factors causing reductions and increases in consumption. 

“Do you want me to banish all alcoholic beverages from your quarters, sir?”

“Uh…”

“It is a recommended strategy, according to my initial research.”

“Fine, fine, whatever. Just don’t throw it out, most of the stuff’s expensive. Lock it away and don’t let me access it for all I care, or donate it or something…”

“Where would you suggest I donate renowned brands of liquor, sir?”

Tony can’t help but laugh at that. “Point taken. Just… Monday, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

All right. This is progress, right? Tony’s actively undertaking steps to be a better person and reduce the risk of alienating Steve. 

_Four more days,_ he thinks as he pulls the blankets over him. Four days until sobriety. 

It’s a scary prospect.

*

Steve knows sleep will elude him tonight if he isn’t thoroughly exhausted physically. Mentally, he thinks he’s got it covered, but it’s not enough. 

He heads straight for the gym as soon as he lands and proceeds to channel all his energy through his fists, scowling at the boxing sack as if he might destroy it with his glare alone.

“I was wondering,” Nat’s voice echoes through the otherwise empty gym, “how long it’d take for Stark to cause that look on your face.”

Steve ignores her. 

“Honestly I thought it’d happen sooner than this.”

“You got a point, Widow, or you just here to say I told you so?”

Nat arches an eyebrow, coming to a halt in his field of vision but far enough away to be out of the gym bag’s reach as it jostles from Steve’s jabs and kicks. 

“I didn’t tell you; just cautioned against it.”

“You and Bucky should bond over your shared lack of faith in Tony and my relationship.”

“Maybe we will,” she says though she doesn’t mean it. Steve aims a high-kick at the bag and the force of its impact rattles the hinges. 

“You flew him back?”

“Well, I couldn’t let him fly on his own.”

Nat is silent for a minute. “You’re too good for him.”

Steve bristles. She said the same thing when he told her about his date on Halloween. “I’m not perfect.”

“Never said you were.” 

She watches him deliver a rapid combination of punches that he ends with a jump kick in the hopes that will convey how much she isn’t helping right now. Not that he knows what she could be doing differently, if he’s being honest. 

“So, what now? What’s the plan?” she asks eventually, insinuation heavy in her tone. Steve hates it. 

“The _plan_ is to let Tony sleep it off and tomorrow after training I’ll fly down and make sure he gets some sleep before the keynote speech.”

“How about you wait ‘till he grovels and apologizes?” 

Steve’s hands clench into fists. “It’s not a race,” he gripes. “I’m not going to let him suffer through the night before the Launch Fair alone, no matter how much he pissed me off today.”

Nat’s shoulders slump, though she keeps her thoughts to herself, breathing out through her nose. 

“Just – be careful?” she says eventually. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Thank you, Nat, but I’m a big boy, too.”

Her raised eyebrow speaks volumes, yet Steve turns his back and leaves the gym before she can disagree. 

*

Steve can feel both Nat and Bucky silently judging him from across the kitchen as he fills two boxes of Tupperware with some of Bruce’s curry to take with him to Manhattan. 

Bruce looks pleased when Steve bids the team goodbye and says, just loud enough for Steve to hear “Make sure he sleeps, alright?” 

Steve nods solemnly. “I’ll do my best.”

“Sure you want me in charge for the day?” Natasha teases when she draws back from the hug she pulled him into. 

“They’ll be in capable hands.” 

Since Steve wants to be at Flushing Meadows for moral support, Nat is going to take over for him during training. She’s secretly pleased to get the opportunity, Steve can tell. He waves at the others and leaves the kitchen with the food and his overnight bag, heading for the nearest quinjet. 

He isn’t sure what to expect as he approaches the tower, illuminated in the fading light of dusk. Will Tony even be there? Granted, he hasn’t left the tower without external forces pushing him into doing it since Ultron’s defeat, but… maybe he did today, just out of spite?

What’s more – will he be sober? 

Steve would be lying if he said he doesn’t have a problem with drunk-Tony. Drunk-Tony jumps wildly from one thought to the next, doesn’t filter his thoughts much and is a lot less diplomatic for it, and it makes Steve uncomfortable given the entire consent issue. Thankfully – and also curiously – last night marked the first time Steve actually had to deal with this side of his partner since they started dating, except maybe for Thanksgiving. 

But he can’t simply ignore part of the person he has fallen for, so even if the Tony he encounters is inebriated, he won’t turn around. He’ll be there in any capacity that’s going to help. 

“Good evening, Captain Rogers,” J.J.’s incorporeal voice greets him as he steps into the building from the hanger where he parked the jet. 

“Hello, J. How are you?” 

Yes, Sam tends to laugh at this particular habit of his, but in Steve’s eyes, J.J. is pretty much a person, and thus the AI deserves a display of basic manners. At least that’s his opinion.

“I am functioning at optimal capacity, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Good. Where’s Tony? He hasn’t eaten yet, has he?”

“I presume the latter was a rhetorical question, Captain?”

Steve laughs, only slightly astonished by the AI’s snark. “You got me there, J.”

“Mr. Stark is currently downstairs in his workshop, if you wish to seek him out.”

“I do. Can you, uh, not warn him? I don’t think he expects me to turn up and I’d like to surprise him.” 

“I see no harm in not announcing your presence, Captain. Given that Mr. Stark has granted you permanent all-level access I did not see it necessary to tell sir about your arrival when you were nearing the tower.”

“You’re the best, J.”

“Thank you, Captain.” 

Steve knows that the workshop has a microwave and some plates and cutlery, so he leaves his bag in the elevator and just takes the Tupperware with him as he ventures into the cluttered, spacious area. 

When he finds Tony, half of the mechanic is buried inside the damaged remains of a Chitauri vessel, one of the one-man vehicles that look like flying jet-skis. Part of the tech Bucky salvaged has gone to the new facility and the rest has been shipped to SI in New York in the hopes that someone might eventually figure out how these darn things work. 

As Steve watches, Tony disappears a bit more into the tangle of wires and alien tech, cursing worse like any soldier Steve ever heard. Tony extracts himself with practiced grace a moment later, brushing the back of his hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat that has been accumulating there. 

“This doesn’t make any fucking sense!” he grouses, throwing his small torch into the direction of the toolbox. It almost hits its target, sliding the rest of the way across the floor until it connects with the side of the metal box, a faint _clonk_ echoing through the workshop. 

“How the hell is this shit even working; have they ever heard of the laws of physics? J., how’s that simulation coming?”

“There are still too many factors missing for me to render the schematics sufficiently, sir.”

“Damn it!”

“Sir, if you would turn around?”

“What the – fuck!” Tony jumps about a foot to the right as he spies Steve. “How long’ve you been watching? Why are you – I mean,” he pauses, visibly forcing himself to slow down, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Steve smiles. “I didn’t want you to spend the night before your big speech here alone.” He holds out the containers. “I brought food? Bruce made curry and I snatched some.”

“And he didn’t hulk out when you stole that out of the pan?”

“No,” Steve promises. “He even told me to make sure you get some sleep.”

“Oh.” Tony swallows, his face going through several expressions in quick succession, eventually taking on a woeful look. “Listen, Steve… I’m sorry, for last night. I acted like a dick.”

“You did,” Steve agrees, and Tony snorts in the brief pause before Steve adds, “but I could have handled it better, too.”

“We’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we?”

“I guess.” 

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight.”

Steve steps closer. “We fought, yes, but it won’t be our last fight, not by any chance.”

Tony chuckles, though it sounds quite bitter. “I’m surprised we held out this long. I mean, we were always at each other’s throats…”

“Maybe our – what did you call it? Honeymoon period? Maybe that’s over?”

Tony averts his eyes and shrugs dejectedly and suddenly Steve can’t keep away any longer. He places the food on the floor and closes the distance, pulling Tony towards him by the loops of his belt. It startles the man into glancing up and Steve can lean down to kiss Tony unimpeded. 

It feels like the first breath after almost drowning and Steve surges forward greedily, welcoming Tony’s tongue into his mouth and cursing his faulty need to breathe since it means they have to break apart at some point. 

Tony is holding onto his shoulders as if his life depended on it. 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, waiting until brown eyes are looking up at him before he goes on. “I can’t promise I’ll never storm off on you again, or get really mad – but what I can promise you is that I’ll always come back once I’ve cooled off. You’re not chasing me away so easily.”

Tony swallows, blinking rapidly all of a sudden. “Not even when I’m a drunken jerk?”

“Not even then.”

Steve’s chest aches when he realizes that the shining in Tony’s eyes are unshed tears, and that the blinking is supposed to keep them at bay. Steve’s chest clenches – Tony shouldn’t feel like he has to hold back, not when it’s just them. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, cupping Tony’s jaw and caressing his cheek with his thumb. 

Tony takes a shaky breath and it stutters even more when he exhales. His tongue darts out quickly to wet his lips and if the movement hadn’t drawn Steve’s attention away from Tony’s eyes he never would have noticed the other man squaring his shoulders as if steeling himself for battle. 

Steve makes to speak though stops himself at the last second when he sees the look in Tony’s eyes. They aren’t as shiny anymore but incredibly soft and Steve wants to drown in the warm brown color even if thinking that makes him the world’s biggest sap. 

“I…” Tony begins, then clears his throat because it comes out raspy. “I think I love you, too.”

Steve feels the smile taking over his face while his heart is threatening to burst out of his chest. He swoops in for a kiss because not kissing Tony now would actively spell his death. It’s the most intimate moment of Steve’s life, wrapped in the knowledge that Tony said it, he actually _said it_ and Steve isn’t alone with his feelings, for the first time in almost a century he has a partner who loves him just as he loves them. 

Then Tony’s teeth scrape across Steve’s lower lip and the mood changes from one heartbeat to the next. Suddenly Tony’s hands a pawning at Steve’s shirt, struggling with the buttons while Steve’s are getting to work on Tony’s belt. 

“Damn, just rip it,” Steve says and one sharp intake of breath later the sound of popping buttons joins that of their heavy breathing. 

Tony has to let him go so he can get out of his undershirt, though he uses the time to discard the stained wife-beater and step out of his jeans, taking his underwear with him. 

A naked Tony Stark who is also covered in alien motor oil and grime, gazing at him with dark eyes and blown pupils, his flushed erection jutting forward, makes for one amazing sight. 

Steve is on his knees before his brain registers he even made a decision. He licks a stripe down Tony’s shaft, then takes him into his mouth, Tony’s hand a reassuring weight at the back of his head. 

“Oh god, workshop sex, how haven’t we done this before,” Tony babbles, which is a sign that Steve’s not blowing his mind enough to shut him up. 

He redoubles his efforts, relaxes his jaw like Tony taught him, and loses himself in the rhythm of hard flesh sliding between his lips, taking him as deep as he can. He works himself up to it, only goes for broke when he is ready, and the string of profanity that comes out of his partner’s mouth makes Steve’s chest swell with pride while his throat convulses around the head of Tony’s cock. 

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close,” Tony gasps and Steve pulls back while keeping a hand working the erection in front of him. He meets Tony’s questioning, half-lidded gaze with a smirk, aiming the head of his cock in a way that makes his intentions perfectly clear. 

Tony comes moments later, spilling himself all over Steve’s face and even his hair. 

“Holy shit,” Tony pants feebly, staring down at his work as his thighs shake. Steve licks at a drop of come he can feel near the corner of his mouth. “Ngh, don’t do that, fuck... give me a minute, here.” 

But Steve is already sliding a hand past his waistband because his erection is getting painful in the confines of his pants, trying to open the zipper with his other hand. 

“Damn, let me, you’re gonna hurt yourself, big guy,” Tony mumbles, his knees hitting the floor mid-sentence. 

The pressure is gone seconds later and Tony slaps Steve’s hands away, then pauses since he apparently realized how dirty his hands are. 

“Okay, for health and safety reasons I’ll need you to fuck my mouth.”

“What a hardship,” Steve jokes, raising an eyebrow at Tony for the predictable pun. 

“Nope, not gonna bite – literally, in this case – ‘cos that’s just too easy. I’ve got more class than this. “

“Tony, I love you, but you need to stop talking –”

“- and put my mouth to better use, I get it, I get it.”

But he’s smiling as he leans forward, covering his teeth with his lips, the mischievous glint in his eyes a blatant challenge. 

Steve does his best to hold out but that is incredibly difficult when Tony Stark is kneeling on the floor of his workshop next to you, naked safe for the stains on his skin, just taking every thrust you offer. 

Tony pulls back when Steve’s orgasm hits, letting the fluid coat his face where it mixes with the grease and sweat from his work. Steve is attentive enough to see the wince as Tony rearranges himself so he’s no longer kneeling but after that all he’s able to process is the warm weight of the man he loves spread out across his chest as he leaves Steve to deal with the floor of the workshop which is getting colder the longer he lies there. 

Steve places a kiss on the crown of Tony’s head, relishing the content sigh it elicits. 

“Battle plan,” he mumbles into Tony’s hair. “Shower, then food, and then we relocate to an actual bed for another round of make-up sex?”

“You have the best ideas, love.”

Steve closes his eyes and smiles up at the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn’t too sappy ;) Also, we have reached the end of Act I, y’all! One quarter of the story is over… Thank you all so much for the feedback! It's an incredible motivator :)
> 
>  **Updates will now be weekly** and maybe if my Muse cooperates there will be no short hiatuses. I’ve written up to chapter 19, so I’m optimistic.


	10. Launch Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, the week seems so much longer with just one update! But hey, I finally made some progress with non-fanfic related things… Things that have deadlines… Hope y’all had a great weekend =)
> 
> I have cast Mahershala Ali (Remy Danton in House of Cards) in my head as Mike, head of SI’s PR department. [Click here](http://house-of-cards.tv/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/remydanton.png%20) if any of you want a visual!
> 
> The Launch Fair plot got a little out of hand, so it stretches into chapter 11. **Warnings** for Howard-related Tony Feels.

Flushing Meadows Corona Park is usually one of New York’s biggest public parks, but just like for the Expo in 2010, Stark Industries has taken over the entire thing for its Launch Fair. 

Of course a lot of the pavilions have been rented out to advertisers and other companies, but most of the ground is dedicated to the new products, with interactive exhibitions for children and adults alike, lotteries and competitions, as well as a practically indecent amount of merchandise to acquire for the whining kids who won’t stop crying unless they get that Hulk action figure, Black Widow backpack or Captain America colored pencil set. 

It’s a great example of edutainment, Tony muses as he passes by the Unisphere on his way to the New York State Pavilion which has already been set up for the eight hundred or so guests that are going to witness his keynote speech.

Eight hundred. _Jeez._

“Okay, I changed my mind, let someone else do it,” Tony says, turning on his heels only to have Steve extend and arm and intercept his (admittedly foolish) escape attempt. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Tony.” 

That has been Steve mantra all morning, ever since he woke up to Tony trying to fend off a panic attack in bed next to him. Yup, not Tony’s finest moment, but Steve’s seen him much worse off back in September. 

“Can I see your fair passes, sirs?” asks one of the hostesses, a pretty twenty-something who would have sent Tony straight into heavy flirt mode five years ago. 

Today he barely musters a tense smile. “Must have left that at Avengers Tower, sorry.”

The girl’s eyes widen as recognition hits her. “Oh, Mr. Stark! Captain Rogers, my sincerest apologies –” 

“Don’t sweat it; I’m sure all guests start to look the same at some point.”

“Have a good day,” Steve adds when Tony just walks past her, and if she weren’t already blushing she would be turning the same color as her blouse in no time with Captain America smiling at her all sincere and nice. Tony can empathize. 

“Tony! You’re early!”

“What’s with that tone of surprise, Mike?” Tony clutches his chest in mock-offense, and then shakes the proffered hand of the head of his PR department. 

Mike (or Michael Samuel Adams IV if you want to be petty) is a perfectionist, which makes him one hell of an employee whose effectiveness is directly proportional to how exhausting it is to deal with him. He is tall, dark skinned, athletically built and the only man Tony knows who can pull off a two-button charcoal suit with a pale blue shirt and an hot-rod red Stark Industries tie along with an Iron Man Golden Pocket Square in triangle fold. While his head is shaved he cultivates just the right amount of scruff to be hip, and his hands have that look that only comes through weekly manicures. 

In short, Mike is a force to be reckoned with and the best hiring decision Pepper ever made. He’s also one of the few people who isn’t intimidated by Tony, even after he had aimed one of his repulsors at the guy the first time he had been especially annoying with his requests for statements and interviews. 

So yeah, Tony respects the guy. Doesn’t mean he has to like him, or what he does.

Or the way his lips purse as he takes in Tony’s clothes – it’s a suit but he’s missing a tie, and his top two buttons are open. It’s the most casual Tony thinks he has ever appeared in front of journalists when they were scheduled to be there.

Tony just narrows his eyes, daring Mike to criticize his attire, but he is a clever guy so he lets it slide. 

“I think the last time you were early for anything was a week before aliens invaded New York. Now I’m not saying this is connected, but it is suspicious, wouldn’t you say? And this must be Captain Rogers – it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Tony lets Steve do his own introductions and of course win over the man with three words, and allows Mike to drag them to where the event coordinators (aka SI’s PR department) have set up camp. 

It is predictably chaotic with people rushing around looking stressed and clutching StarkPads, though the three of them leave all that behind when they climb the stairs to the roof. The latest Mark XIV is already waiting in sentry mode, courtesy of J.J. who flew it in while Steve drove them down on his bike. 

There is even a small table with water, juices and coffee. Tony quirks an eyebrow at Mike, who raises both hands in defense. 

“Don’t look at me – I had no idea you’d be punctual and well-rested.”

“I was on time and well-rested in 2010, too!”

“Yes, but back then you, how do I put it… were less of a hermit than nowadays.”

Tony scowls. “I go out.”

Mike doesn’t dignify that with a reply, which is probably for the best. “We have thirty minutes before everyone is going to be inside the Pavilion; we expect the second and most prominent wave of guests to arrive any minute now. You absolutely certain you don’t want a test run with a suit that’s actually holding a human?”

Tony shakes his head. 

“And your AI can really handle the stage show? Graphics, animation, lights, sound, the whole shebang?”

This time it’s Tony who doesn’t deem the question react-worthy (hell, even Steve is chuckling) and Mike rubs the bridge of his nose. 

“I swear, Tony, if this blows up in our faces I’ll hunt you down and burn you alive, then we’ll see if we get another phoenix-from-the-ashes-metaphor, shall we?”

“I’ve got this,” Tony quickly soothes the guy ‘cos Steve seems to be taking the threat a little too seriously. “Now shoo, terrorize unfortunate temps and schmooze some guests.”

He gets another serious look, but Mike eventually leaves them alone after shaking Steve’s hand in goodbye (and judging by his wince, Mike’s hand did get more than a little crushed). 

They are well and truly hidden from anyone’s view; there aren’t even any news helicopters since SI made sure to declare the area a no-fly-zone (though that was mostly to stave off terrorist attacks), so Tony wastes no time and buries his face in the nape of Steve’s neck. 

“They’ll love you, Tony, don’t worry,” Steve whispers near his ear. “They’ll see the man I’ve fallen for and won’t be able to stop themselves.”

Tony hopes to whichever supreme entity is listening that Steve’s promise will come true. 

*

All too soon J.J.’s voice coming from the suit informs them that it’s time. 

“I’ll be watching from the control room downstairs and I’ll meet you after the Q&A, alright?” Steve says, squeezing Tony’s hips in what he surely thinks to be a reassuring gesture. 

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll get flayed alive.”

“Uh- what?!”

Steve’s grin is almost indecently smug. “Just wanted to see if you could say anything else, or if you’d lost your vocabulary last night.”

“Well, considering what you did to me that’s a definite possibility.”

“What can I say? You’re irresistible.”

Tony has to close his eyes then ‘cos he fears he’s going to cry again like a fucking baby over the fact that he’s dating the best man he’s ever known who says things like that without expecting anything in return, or who skips out on team dinner to distract him even though they’ve just had a huge fight. 

Steve captures his lips in a kiss, nothing more than a quick brush of lips, and some of the tension bleeds from Tony’s shoulders. 

“I love you,” Steve tells him, all bright blue eyes and easy smile. 

Tony swallows around the lump in his throat at says, “Love you, too.”

And one kiss later, Tony is alone on the rooftop with the suit, skin crawling as he steps towards the railing to watch the Pavilion steaming with a staggering amount of people inside. All are waiting for him, there to listen to what he has to say and Tony thinks he might puke. 

Forgoing breakfast despite Steve’s nagging was the best decision he made all day. 

The Mark XIV opens without comment from J.J. and Tony positions himself to let the armor envelop him. The HUD comes to life a split second later. 

“They are ready for you, sir.”

“Uh, good. Yes. Okay. Let’s do this.”

He doesn’t move, though. 

“Sir?”

“Sorry, just gimme a second…”

“All the time you need, sir. It is, after all, your Launch Fair.”

_Well, that’s not quite true, is it?_ Six years ago he might have thought so, but back then he thought he was omniscient. Today he knows better. Humility, he told Steve. 

_Alright. Showtime…_

Tony kicks off the roof, shooting approximately 650 feet into the air before flying a loop around the fairgrounds, letting the thrill of speeding through the air take the edge off his anxiety. 

When he nears his destination, the State Pavilion’s stage where J.J. is running some artistically minimalistic animation, he is no longer terrified, merely nervous as hell. 

He lands in a crouch with one fist on the ground, then quickly straightens and takes in the cheering crowd briefly before giving J. the sign to let him out of the suit. 

Applause erupts, surprisingly loud for such a professional audience, and an appreciative “oh” echoes through the location as Tony tells the armor to go into sentry mode. 

“The microphone is on, sir,” J. informs him while he steps towards the edge of the stage. 

Now that he is on the ground, he recognizes quite a few familiar faces among the audience, from businessmen and journalists to tech bloggers, politicians or the leadership of partner companies. 

“Welcome to the 2016 Stark Industries Launch Fair,” he greets them, managing a smile he hopes will come across as charming. “I can see a lot of skeptical expressions down there,” a few in the audience chuckle and Tony in immensely grateful to those; nothing right now would’ve been worse than a silent crowd, “thinking, ‘Well, Stark’s gotta work on his entrances a bit, that was quite anti-climactic.’ Am I right?”

A little more laughter, good. Tony swallows. He can see they’re all waiting for the big show, anticipation making them sit up straighter. Some of the reporters are already smiling. 

_Now or never,_ Tony thinks. This is the point of no return. 

He exhales audibly. “I guess I’ll have to apologize to those of you who hoped for a big show like last time – you know, dancers, maybe some fireworks… It’s not about that, today.” A hush has fallen over the crowd and several hundred brows have furrowed in suspicion and confusion. Tony barges on before he loses his nerve. 

“I’m not here to entertain you, but to tell you about StarkVision, to explain what it is all about and why you should care.”

He ambles to the left a little, the sound of his pulse loud in his ears until J.J. supplies him with a keyword in his ear, ensuring he doesn’t lose the thread.   
“In order to do that I’ll need to reach back a bit, ‘cos all this began years ago. It started, I think, with two scientists who thought they knew best.” He smiles self-deprecatingly, fully aware of the cameras recoding his every twitch, every micro expression. “We had this idea, you see – a suit of armor around the entire world to would protect us against anything and everyone, no matter how far advanced or how aggressive. Peace. World peace. That was what we wanted.”

He stops on the far left, gazing off into nothing for a second to suppress the memories of friendly banter between lab equipment, Bruce joking about Tony just wanting a Nobel Peace Prize before he dies. 

Tony huffs, breaking the silence. “I guess you all remember how well that turned out – Ultron got close to ending life as we know it. We were damn lucky, though, so we’re all still here. Life went on, the earth kept turning; we lived to fight another day. Only I…” 

Tony takes a deep breath, the weight of eight hundred pairs of eyes on him. 

“I thought I was finished, for a while. You’ve all seen the pictures, read the articles and speculations. Now while I didn’t contract cancer,” he laughs dryly, “I did fall into a damn large black hole for a few weeks, no sense denying that. I was scared, scared that everything I’d ever touch would backfire, that my inventions did more harm than good. So I didn’t invent. I rebuilt, by myself, for weeks. And here’s where StarkVision begins: I just wanted to upgrade our current systems. Only Ultron had wiped the computers in the labs, wrecked most other tech… I took fragments of code and pieced them together to what I thought at the time was an upgraded operating system. I sent it to our IT department so they could install it on SI servers, only they couldn’t ‘cos I’d just created something entirely new.”

Tony starts wandering again, gradually retracing his steps towards center stage as the audience listens with rapt attention. He can see the fire in some reporters’ eyes, excited about this unknown side of him, less of the same, more of something new and potentially scandalous. 

“It took some doing, after that. For one I needed to realize that one mistake, one murderous robot, didn’t mean that’s all I’m good for. For another I needed to figure out a way to make the new system work with older tech – which cost the entire staff some sleepless night, I can tell you. But most of all we needed a new vision of the world, one where simple solutions don’t work, where big leaps don’t protect, but endanger. So instead of giving earth that suit of armor I originally planned, I realized we needed a lot of little suits, taking many different forms.”

Tony pauses, waiting for the graphics behind his back to morph into the specs of the new product line. 

“StarkVision is just the beginning. What you’ll see here over the course of the next four days is one piece on the chessboard. These devices will make us safer, conserve energy and resources, but they aren’t that one, grand solution that will protect us against all of humanity’s enemies, homegrown or extraterrestrial.”

The audience is still eerily silent, though by now even the last skeptics seem to have gotten the memo that Tony is serious and that the Tony Stark of the 2010 Expo won’t return. 

“How does it work, then? Well, if you want everything explained to a t, then you can ask my colleagues in the various pavilions later; they’re here for a reason. I’ll just give you the cliff notes so you’ll know what to tweet in a couple of minutes.”

He grins and even gets some soft laughs in return before he dives into delineating the basic features of all new StarkVision products, shedding the last of his anxiety as he does his best to keep to layman terms. 

It really is awesome – cheaper hardware, five times the speed of previous models while requiring less energy and on top of that every device comes with an integrated highly resilient firewall. 

“Seriously, you’ll be less likely to crack that one than the Pentagon’s. Believe me, I tried,” he adds with a smirk, but he’s only half-joking. Of course, they really owe that part to Vision who agreed to tweak their existing cyber security software even though he usually chooses not to interfere with human evolution too much. Stupid Prime Directive… Tony should have never written a preference for Star Trek into JARVIS’ code.

“And we won’t stop there.” Tony turns his body inward to see which graphics J.J. is feeding them and goes with the flow. “We at Stark Industries, in cooperation with Dr. Helen Cho, have expanded our medical research program. We’ve got tons of pilot projects which you can all learn about in pavilion eleven; seriously, Dr. Cho is amazing and makes for good photo-ops, just saying,” he adds with a wink. 

“We’re continuously advancing arc reactor technology, trying to adapt it to more varied uses that will benefit everyone, not just the top ten percent. Also check out pavilion number nine for more info on the new SHIELD app – it’s damn practical, lets you inform the authorities right away when you see something unnatural going on that you think goes beyond what the other agencies can handle. Oh, and one more thing you’re gonna love,” Tony announces, turning towards the screen where J.J. has pulled up an image of a small ball that zips around a conference table. 

The animation powers up and suddenly the entire State Pavilion is filled with three-dimensional projections. Damn right, they finally found a way to make it affordable for the public. Bless Lehnsherr and his team, seriously. 

“You’re gonna be the first to witness Stark Industries’ groundbreaking projection systems. Our _interactive_ projection systems.”

Tony puts both hands on either side of the nearest hologram, a three-dimensional model of Avengers Tower, and zooms in, spinning the projection to the pleasure of the audience. A few people are reaching out to touch but Tony calls them back with a smooth motion of his hand. 

“Don’t worry, they’ll reappear as soon as I’m off this stage. And you can see more of them in action in pavilion seven.”

With another gesture, all holograms disappear; only the StarkVision logo remains on the screen behind Tony. 

“I guess I have sufficiently set the mood for the next few days. You’ll see inspiring things here, things that’ll improve our world one step at a time. And I hope that’s what you’re gonna take away from my speech today. Thank you for your attention.”

This might actually be the first time Tony actually said that last sentence, like, _ever_ , and he can see the same occurring to a lot of people in front of him. The applause starts slow, gaining momentum until the first person leaps to their feet, some young blogger by the looks of him, but most of the others follow. 

For a moment it’s hard to breathe but then the suit closes around him and he flies off. Not far, just to the small, improvised construction that will house the Q&A with select journalists. 

“Captain Rogers is on the line, sir.”

“Put him through, J.”

“You were amazing,” Steve tells him a split second later and Tony can hear the smile in his voice. “They loved you, see? Hate to say ‘I told you so’, but if the shoe fits…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a class A fortune teller,” Tony complains, but he’s grinning from ear to ear. 

*

[…]

“Lucia Muños from the Ney York Times. Your keynote was very subdued. Are we to assume that Tony Stark has finally grown up?”

“It’s got nothing to do with growing up. I reordered my priorities, and entertaining you guys didn’t make the cut.”

“Care to elaborate on what these priorities are, Mr. Stark?”

“Sure, Ms. Muños. You all haven’t seen me out and about ‘cos I’ve been busy with StarkVision and other things, and of course with the Avengers. My work, advancing science and protecting the world, that’s number one. Everything else is either necessary to ensure the success of SI’s projects, or nothing more than white noise, really.”

[…]

“Stephen Arnell, Associated Press. What do you say to those voices who accuse you of only supporting SHIELD to expand the profit margins of your company through merchandise?”

“To them I say what my CEO told me a couple of weeks ago: SI is not a bottomless money pit. We need stuff like Avengers backpacks and action figures to stay afloat over the next decades, and I don’t see any other takers for our position in the field of global security.”

[…]

“Frank Jovovich, Hero Watch Magazine. A lot of our readers want to know how the new additions to the Avengers have changed the team dynamic. Would you comment on that?”

“Fine, but I guess the string of successful missions we conducted along with SHIELD personnel in the past weeks really speaks for itself. There’s strength in numbers, and that doesn’t change we’ve got the best leader any team could want.”

“You are referring to Captain Rogers?”

“Of course, who the hell else would do that job? He’s our boss and we’ll gladly follow him into whichever battle he leads us. You won’t find a more upstanding man. We’re all different people with different strengths and, yes, weaknesses as well, but Steve knows all that and accepts us for who we are. He’s the glue that holds us together. Sure, the dynamic is different, but it’s just as effective if not more, I daresay, than before.”

[…]

“Mr. Stark, Jenny Norrington from People Magazine. Wonderful keynote, really. I was wondering, though – do your reordered priorities leave time for a special someone in your life?”

“Ms. Norrington, come on! We’re here to discuss StarkVision, not waste time gossiping about my private life. I’ll have my PR department tweet you should I ever marry, though.”

*

Steve is tucked into a corner of the makeshift room, hiding from Tony’s view because he doesn’t want to throw him off with his presence. All around him, cameras are rolling and reporters are typing away on tablets, laptops and phones while also recording every word Tony says with tiny Dictaphones or smartphone apps. Steve is never going to mention how much it delights him to see a few also taking notes by hand. 

It’s so strange, seeing Tony on the podium without his press-smile. He hasn’t even made a single pass at any of the journalists, doesn’t embellish his replies, just answers each question curtly yet thoroughly. 

If he tried, Tony couldn’t make it more obvious that he wants to be anywhere but in this room, and it confuses the fifty or so people in the crowd. They haven’t witnessed this version of Tony before and as far as Steve can tell, they aren’t quite sure what to make of it. 

The allotted hour eventually ends with Tony posing for a few pictures in front of the SI banner. Steve does a quick sketch while cameras click and flashes go off, hurried lines tracing Tony’s sincere stare, unmasked in front of the world. 

Or as unmasked as Tony is ever going to be around strangers.

Steve sneaks backstage as the reporters filter out of the room, most of them on their phones or talking animatedly with each other, and finds Mike standing in front of Tony with raised eyebrows and up-turned palms. 

“When you said ‘without much fanfare’, Tony, I didn’t realize you meant this.”

“Well, it’s your job to deal with the fallout, so –”

“I’m not complaining here, Tony! You were sincere on that stage, fallible. That was a human being up there. I’ve never seen you show humility before today; I’m going to need a moment to reconstruct my entire worldview.”

“Jeez, Mike, stop it with the theatrics. Oh, look! Captain Rogers!” Tony is across the room in point-five seconds and it takes everything for Steve not to sweep him up in a kiss. 

Something must have shown on his face, though, for Mike’s eyebrows are climbing impossibly higher. 

“How’d you get here so fast? I thought you were watching from base camp.” 

“I snuck in. You confused a lot of people today.”

“As long as they’re focusing most of their writing on StarkVision and not me, it’s all good. Now, I’m starving. How about you, Cap?”

“Tony –”

“Yeah, Mike, I’ll mingle.” Tony gives a shudder that is, in Steve’s opinion, only twelve percent fake. “I promised you an hour, didn’t I?”

“You promised me three hours,” Mike insists, “in exchange for no interview with US Weekly.”

“Oh, yeah, you remember that.”

“I even have you on record, Tony.”

“Alright, alright, come on, Cap.”

Tony ushers them out of the conference building through the back. Once outside, Tony sags against the wall, closing his eyes. After assessing their surroundings, Steve crowds into Tony’s space and proceeds to rub circles into his shoulders until he can feel his partner relax under the touch. 

“I did it.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Tony looks up. “Seriously?” 

“Yes. Seriously.” Steve kisses the nearest patch of Tony he can reach, which is the top of his head. “You didn’t put on a show for them. You opened up about Ultron. That took guts.”

Familiar hands wind around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer and for several minutes they just breathe each other’s air. 

“I meant it, though,” Tony says then, pulling away and stepping to the side. “I’m ravenous. Let’s find some food, then I’ve gotta mingle. Okay, I actually do want to say hi to Helen. Although I’d much prefer dragging you back to the tower and not leaving the bed ‘til Sunday evening.”

“The others are flying in on Saturday, so that won’t work anyway.”

“Ugh, people. Who needs people?”

“Everyone. We’re social entities, Tony. I think your blood sugar’s low.”

“Hm, yeah, give me protein.”

Steve squints at his boyfriend. “I’m pretty sure the recommended food group is carbs.”

“I mean – never mind, I’ll explain later.”

*

They do manage to chase down something edible, thanks to the fifty or so food stands scattered around Flushing Meadows, and Steve accompanies Tony to Helen’s pavilion. 

Since Steve wanted to go incognito, he is in slacks and a button-down as well as a hoodie and his leather jacket, which provides enough warmth for the periods of exposure to the cold February air, only to be removed once inside a pavilion all of which are heated. 

He actually had to change clothes three times until Tony deemed him okay, something the young Stark apparently defines as “not distracting me by being too hot, really Steve, that outfit’s practically indecent”.

After they leave Helen to go back to explaining her discoveries to journalists, Tony and he part ways since Tony agreed to show his face around the Fair, not hide behind Steve all day (Tony’s words, not his), so Steve explores on his own. 

He impresses a middle-aged business man with his hologram skills (which took Steve some time to master, granted), praises Stark tech because it really is the best, he’s not even lying, and thinks he might have convinced the man to equip his company with the new projectors. 

It’s a good thing, too, since the guy who is apparently in charge of the pavilion is the embodiment of a storm cloud. Frankly Steve has never seen a grumpier individual, except maybe Tony after sixty hours in the workshop with too much blood in his caffeine system. He is tall and lean with angular features and icy blue eyes that glare at everything around him even while he is reluctantly explaining some features to visitors. 

When he runs into Tony later and tells him about this, Tony throws his head back and laughs out loud. 

“That’s Lehnsherr, head of engineering and the poor schmuck in charge of the holography hardware. I can’t believe they roped him into flying out here from California. Probably made a deal with him so that he doesn’t need to attend any company functions for the next five years.”

After two hours of too many people, however, Steve needs a break so he buys himself a cup of coffee and sits down on a bench on the outer ring surrounding the Unisphere. 

He gets out his sketchbook and looks around for something to catch his attention. There is a group of four diagonally across from him, perched on the barrier separating the icon from the grounds. Two dames, a slender redhead and a curvy blonde, are joking around with two men, one with long blond hair and the other wearing sunglasses. There is a stick near his elbow, which also explains why the blond man sometimes guides the other man’s hand to certain food items in the group’s middle. 

He sketches all of them laughing and decides to add some color when he is near his supplies. 

“I beg your pardon,” a voice with a distinctly British accent interrupts his drawing, and Steve looks up to find a young man a few feet away from him. The cardigan underneath his jacket and the slightly windswept hair make Steve immediately think ‘professor’. 

“I am, actually. A professor, I mean,” the man says and now Steve is on his feet because he _definitely_ did not say that out loud. The man’s expression turns apologetic. “I’m sorry. I usually have much better control over my powers. It’s just that your mind is incredibly bright and it’s taking me some time to tune you out.”

“You’re a telepath?” 

Steve has read about them but never actually met one, surprisingly. 

“Yes. Charles Xavier. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“Steve is fine,” he says, shaking Xavier’s hand. 

“Charles, then, please. And I didn’t want to interrupt your sketching – you’re very talented, by the way – I just wanted to say hello. Although I can see you’re trying to be inconspicuous, so apologies if I’m bothering you.”

“No, it’s fine. I mostly draw from memory.” He gestures towards the four people who are ambling off. 

“Oh, sorry.”

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow. Does the man realize how often he apologizes?

“I do. Oh, bugger, I’m sorry –”

“How does it work?” Steve interrupts before Xavier can say ‘sorry’ one more time. “Your ability, I mean?”

“May I?” Charles points to the empty space on the bench and Steve follows him into a sitting position. “Well, I was born with it and I presented rather soon before I even turned nine. So my memory of a time when I couldn’t hear people’s thoughts is a tad blurry.”

After a little more prodding, Xavier eventually dives into a detailed explanation of his ability and telepathy in general, which leads them to the topic of Mutants and Xavier’s experiences at his Institute, the first Mutant-only school where, according to his tales, the students are blossoming and feeling well at home among their peers. 

Steve is about to ask Xavier about the Superhuman Registration Act – the man probably caught his intention given the way the lines of his face harden – but a familiar voice draws their attention before Steve can. 

“Ha, don’t you make a pair! I guess mentally Charles is even older than you, Cap.”

“Tony. Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re supposed to mold young minds. Isn’t that why I wrote you that check?” Before Steve can ask, Tony turns towards him, but his smile is a little off – superficial, somehow. His eyes are duller, too. Has Tony learnt how to shield telepaths? “I partly funded that pilot project of his.”

“For which I’m very grateful, Tony. Even though it was actually Pepper who wrote the check.”

“Ah, details, who cares! Now, I hate to take Steve away from you, but there’s dinner plans, you know how it goes.”

Xavier’s eyes dart between them and Steve is a little thrown as to how he should act. Not think about what Tony apparently doesn’t want Charles to see? 

_Don’t worry,_ a voice echoes in his head, startling Steve. _Your secret’s safe with me._

“Well, it was an honor meeting you, Steve.”

“Likewise, Professor.”

Charles walks off and Tony sheds the superficial attitude, morphing back into the man Steve fell for. 

“Mike released me!” he announces, beaming up at Steve. “I say we order takeout and spend the rest of the day in bed.”

Steve smiles back, squeezing Tony’s hand where no one can see, and follows him to where he parked his motorcycle. 

*

“Tony, I could _literally_ kiss you,” Mike says when Tony arrives in Flushing Meadows on Sunday after one and a half days with Steve and another half day filling the tower with more positive memories with the entire team minus Clint, who is busy being father of the year courtesy of the Fair passes Tony supplied him and his entire family with. 

Nat’s been a little colder towards him than usual, however, and when he asked Steve if he knew what’s up, his partner told him about his and Nat’s ‘talk’. Tony can’t say he blames her. Hopefully he’ll prove her concerns wrong in the long run… 

Where was he? Oh, right. Mike. Kissing. 

“And there I had you pegged as a ten on the Kinsey scale,” Tony deadpans, though his face could surely serve as the definition of ‘deer in the headlights look’ right now. 

“Oh, I am, but I’d be willing to make an exception this very moment.”

“Please don’t. Also – why?”

“Where’ve you been the past forty-eight hours?” Mike seems genuinely appalled, his eyes narrowed and all kiss-related sentiment gone even though there is still a smile playing about his lips. Whatever’s going on must be damn good. 

“Played tour guide for Steve and then entertained the Avengers yesterday – you shoulda seen Barnes’ face when he discovered peanut butter hot chocolate and that he can actually buy that with his credit card, it was beautiful… No worries, we were discreet about the shopping; but point is that I didn’t have to be here, unlike now. So what’s going on?”

“Tony,” Mike says, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “We have a record number of pre-orders, on _everything_. The video of your keynote speech has approximately ten million views on YouTube alone, not counting those who watched the live stream on our website. You even started a new hashtag!”

“A hashtag? What? #UnspectacularTony?”

“No, #PrioritiesReordered. Your tale really resonated with people. They have been posting their own transformed priorities since Thursday afternoon. I’m sure Jarvis Junior put together a compilation for you – which you’ve ignored, why am I even surprised?”

Tony shrugs, a little helplessly. “So reactions were favorable?”

Mike pulls back his hand (finally) and grins. “Definitely. There were a few idiots mourning the lack of fireworks and dancers, but the majority ate up this chastened version of you and made it their headliner.”

“But they’re supposed to talk about StarkVision!” Tony protests, only to have Mike shush him with a raised hand. 

“They did. The blogsphere is buzzing with your new inventions and, like I said, pre-orders are through the roof. Congratulations, Tony.”

“Okay…” is all he says ‘cos he’s a bit overwhelmed right now. People actually like this, what did Steve call it? This unmasked version of him? It feels almost too good to be true. 

As if on cue, Mike sobers up, his expression suddenly serious. “There is one more thing I wanted to talk to you.”

Tony shrugs again, but he doesn’t miss how Mike glances around his makeshift office and then moves to close the door. 

“Is this the part where you kill me to boost sales?” Tony can’t help but quip to mask his confusion. 

“No. But I might if you continue to keep me out of the loop on game-changing developments.” Tony shoots him a ‘what the fuck’ look and thankfully Mike elaborates immediately. “What is the nature of your relationship with Steve Rogers?”

Tony splutters, which, yeah, suspicious as hell, should’ve schooled his features better ‘cos Mike already looks like he’s keenly aware of the answer. 

“That’s none of your business,” he gripes eventually, but shit, Mike’s not easily intimidated. _Shoulda thought of that, Stark._

“As the head of your PR department who coordinates his efforts with the heads of the Avengers’ PR department, I assure you that there is nothing in this world that is less my business than this.”

“What I do in my private life –”

“- affects the success of the company, come on, Tony, you know that better than anyone. I’m not the enemy here.”

“Well, your shitty tone says otherwise.”

“I just want to know what the situation is and what you’re planning to do about it in the future so that I can draw up contingency plans in case something goes wrong, because quite frankly? Your plans tend to go sideways, Tony.”

Tony’s hands clench into fists and he would like nothing better than to hit the guy but then Pepper would make him sit through one of those videos about appropriate behavior in the workplace and besides, Steve would probably get that kicked puppy look on his face which Tony has been doing his best to avoid like the plague. Or US Weekly reporters. 

So instead of giving into his violent urges, Tony heaves the weariest sigh ever sighed and meets Mike’s gaze head on. 

“Steve and I are together. And yes, we’re keeping it secret for now, but we decided that after this whole circus we’ll be less cautions, ‘cos no matter what the hate groups are gonna say, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I know,” Mike manages through gritted teeth. Usually riling Mike up like that brings Tony a great deal of satisfaction, but this time it hits a little too close to home. “And that’s perfectly fine. But you can’t be genuinely telling me that you were just going to do your thing without informing your respective PR departments?”

“You’re not the boss of us.”

Mike closes his eyes for a second. “I’m not trying to tell you how to handle your secret love affair with Captain America, Tony. I’m simply asking – and quite frankly, close to _begging_ you not to make our jobs harder than they actually are. Can you do that? Maybe make that a new priority? I know Mr. Rogers doesn’t have a feel for the nuances of social media and publicity, no matter how well he handles the team’s press conferences, but you should know better than to keep me out of the loop.”

Tony has a lot of replies to that on the tip of his tongue, from a very mature “Fuck you, buddy,” to the more genuine “I don’t even know Steve and I are gonna last that long”, though in the end he settles on a sore “Fine!” which has Mike sigh in relief. 

“I just need the basic gist so I know what to tell people if someone snaps a picture of you guys kissing post-battle or something.”

“Please, we’re more professional than that.”

Mike’s raised eyebrow transmits perfectly how much he doesn’t subscribe to that assessment. Tony explains the history of Steve and his relationship as briefly as possible, embellishes the team’s responses a bit (in that, in Tony’s version, they were all thrilled to see their leader and resident train wreck started dating) and is out of Mike’s office three minutes later to fill Steve in about how they were made. 

“He looked like he was suspecting something,” is all the man in question has to say to that, totally unfazed. 

“You’re really okay with going public? At some point, I mean? Not right now, but when it happens?” Tony blurts, ‘cos no matter how often Steve reassures him or tells him he loves him ( _him! Tony Stark!_ ), he still can’t silence that stupid voice at the back of his head that keeps up a running commentary of self-doubt and insecurity. 

Steve’s eyes go incredibly soft at that and he leans in so that his lips are close to Tony’s ear since they might be secluded behind the base of PR operations but they’re still in public. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers, “and I want the world to know you’re mine.”

Tony shivers, unable to keep his hands from reaching out to touch the man in front of him. Steve moves into the touch, his eyes closing as Tony’s palm cups his jaw. 

_If karma’s real, my next life is gonna suck,_ Tony thinks, about to cover Steve’s lips with his own when J.J. tells him it’s time to get into position for the award presentation. 

“Ngh,” he moans – and not in the good way – resting his head on Steve’s shoulder as the soldier pats his back. 

“Come on, we had Friday all to ourselves. And Saturday morning. Let’s make some kids happy, how’s that sound?”

“Like I’d rather be sucking your dick, that’s how,” Tony whines but follows Steve into the trailer behind the State Pavilion, which houses the changing rooms where most of the team is already waiting. 

Someone at SI had the fantastic idea to have a competition accompany the build-up to the Launch Fair where pupils would come up with plans for a better future world and somehow visualize their ideas. Pepper loved it and managed to convince Steve that the Avengers should present the prizes and then stay until the after party. 

Steve, who is actually just a giant marshmallow in the body of a Greek god, as Tony is beginning to realize, of course agreed wholeheartedly. 

Which is why now, at ten to five on a chilly Sunday afternoon, all Avengers except for Bruce are changing into their uniforms. While the Hulk would be civilized enough to be around children, Bruce would never ever allow it in such a narrow space, so it’s just as well that the stage of the State Pavilion is not big enough to host the entire team. 

The whole thing takes about an hour, with lots of toothy smiles, a few tears of joy and lots and lots of posing for pictures and all Tony can think about is the open bar at the after party. 

He’s been really good these past few days. A couple of beers with dinner, two glasses of scotch the night before when the whole team gathered in the tower’s living room to watch some period piece that Wanda chose… and nothing more. 

See? He can do this. He can stop drinking tomorrow. 

It still feels like drawing the first breath after being submerged under ice-cold water when Tony finally gets his hands on a glass of champagne hours later, the Mark XIV positioned on top of a nearby pavilion while invited guests are milling around in here.

‘Here’ is basically a well-heated two-story pavilion, able to hold all nine hundred or so people and keeping them warm in their cocktail dresses and designer suits. Tony changed into one of his nicer suits after he was forced to leave the armor and is even grateful ‘cos this way he can blend in with the crowd contrary to Steve, who is still wearing one of his darker Captain America uniforms. 

Wanda jumped on the chance to dress up – Tony can spot her fiery red dress from across the dance floor – and Natasha donned something black and snug in solidarity. She’s still carrying at least five different weapons, so Steve couldn’t say anything. Rhodey and Colonel Danvers also stand out since they’re in their dress blues, but the others seem a lot more comfortable in suits even if Clint keeps having to readjust Pietro’s bow-tie (‘cos, you know, “Bow-ties are cool!”, or so Pietro keeps insisting. Seriously, it’s time to take away the kid’s TV privileges before he discovers the Road Runner). He also spotted Vision and Bruce in conversation with Xavier and knows a corner he will decidedly not visit tonight. 

Tony happily accepts his second scotch from the bartender and searches for Steve, but his boyfriend is currently deep in conversation with Sam and whatshername, Caitlyn or Catherine or something, from Associated Press and there is no way in hell Tony’s going anywhere near that bloodhound. She might look like a pretty dolphin but she’s actually a shark when it comes to breaking a story. 

He spies a door on his left, almost entirely hidden by the vegetation their event planners are selling as decorations, and slips out of the first-floor room without a second thought. 

Turns out there’s a balcony. Who woulda thought? 

Tony rests his arms on the railing, gazing out across the park buzzing with workers who are deconstructing the exhibits and stands. It would be a great view in daylight, and frankly it’s a bit too chilly to actually enjoy it, but Tony’s got a glass of good booze to keep him warm so that’s fine. 

He would’ve kept standing there, contemplating the bottom of his tumbler, but the sound of someone crying while trying to keep quiet makes Tony turn around. 

The wet, soft sobs are coming from a young boy, maybe nine or ten, dressed in dress pants and an expensive looking shirt-and-cardigan combination that tells Tony enough about the kid’s family to empathize with the crying. 

He almost leaves the boy alone but something in his chest stings when he takes a step towards the door he exited moments ago, so he steps towards the boy instead. 

“Hey, buddy. Can I help you?”

The boy looks up, startled, and Tony gets a better look at tearful green eyes, light brown skin and thick dark hair. The kid shakes his head dejectedly. 

“Mind if I sit? I might even have a tissue for you, whaddoya say?”

The kid shrugs, which Tony guesses is as good as a yes. He sits down with his back against the cold, concrete wall and a respectable distance between the two of them before pulling out his pocket fold and holding it out to the kid. 

Who doesn’t take it. “Come on, buddy.”

“It’s too nice. It will get dirty.” 

Huh, able to recognize silk on sight and a posh British accent that’s been dulled a little. Tony guesses pre-school abroad, now some expensive preparatory school in the States, his family either old money or more recent wealth. 

“I’ve got about seventy of them. Seriously, it’s okay. It can get dirty.”

A few seconds pass but eventually the boy reaches out and accepts the handkerchief, then blows his nose in that polite, subdued way reserved for company that Tony always fails to accomplish. The kid’s got it down perfectly, though. 

“So,” he says once the boy is breathing normally again and his eyes aren’t brimming with tears. “I’m Tony. Wanna tell me your name?”

“Malik.” He almost doesn’t catch it since it’s barely more than a whisper. 

“Well, Malik, wanna tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help?”

Malik glares defiantly. “Can you make people stay?”

_Oh, boy._

“Uh, not really good at that myself. Who’s gone that you want to come back, kiddo?”

The boy pouts for a moment, apparently mulling over whether or not to tell Tony the truth. The kid draws a shaky breath. “My dad.”

_Yeah,_ Tony should’ve just kept walking, but hindsight and all that… 

“He was here? And he left?”

“He promised to look at the stands with me, but he only looked at one with me and bought me a new tablet. Then he said he had to fly to a dinner meeting.”

“Is your mom around?”

Malik shrugs. “She’s with my sister. It’s her birthday and she wanted to play games.”

Which means that the mother and the daughter are downstairs, where SI installed a few interactive games and exhibits to make sure none of the attending kids would be too bored. 

“Does she know your dad’s gone?”

Unsurprisingly, he gets a shake of the head in return. Then the large green eyes fill with tears again and Malik hides his face in the sullied pocket fold. 

“He always leaves,” he sobs, back trembling with the effort of keeping quiet, and Tony wishes Steve were here ‘cos he’s so much better with kids than Tony. “He always says he’ll come, but he’s never even seen me play!”

“You play football?”

Malik shakes his head, sniffling as he looks up. “Baseball. Dad likes baseball. He’s going to see the big games, so I thought he’d come and see mine, too.”

Tony’s heart aches for the kid. He knows all about doing stuff just ‘cos your old man might take an interest. 

“Listen to me, buddy. I’m gonna tell you a secret, okay?” He waits until Malik gives a tiny nod. “It’s a grown-up secret, so you’d’ve learnt it anyhow later on, but I think you’re already pretty mature, am I right?” 

The boy shrugs, but Tony doesn’t miss how his shoulders slump a little less at the praise. 

“Thing is, a lot of dads leave, or aren’t always there. And nothing you can do will change that. You can play baseball, or learn how to build a circuit board, or program a robot ‘cos your old man likes all these things, but he won’t spend more time with you.”

Malik swallows as he processes this. “But why?”

Tony sighs, thinking about how to word this without scarring the kid for life. “Well, what about the parents of your friends? Their dads always around?”

Malik nods jerkily. “Frankie even has two! I want to have two dads, too.”

“That’s not up to you, kiddo,” Tony chuckles. “But they’re around?”

“They come to every game.” 

“Okay, another secret,” Tony announces, shifting until he’s facing the boy who looks up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Too bad Tony’s gonna have to crush that. He could lie, sure, but that’ll only mean that the kid keeps blaming himself for his father’s dickishness. 

“Just because someone is your father doesn’t make them a good father, alright? You’d think that evolution would’ve programmed us all to be good parents, but truth is – some people make shitty parents. Now, your friend’s dads, they sound like good fathers. But yours? I’m sorry, buddy, but he doesn’t.”

“Can I make him good?” 

Tony shakes his head. “I guess that’s the biggest grown-up secret. You listening?” he waits for a jerk of the head. “If you’re one of the unlucky kids who got a bad father, there’s nothing you can do to change that. It’s not your fault, it’s his. And he’s never gonna change, not even if you go on and play for the NBA one day.”

“I’m going to become a banker.”

“Says your dad?” Malik, when he nods, doesn’t seem particularly thrilled about that. “But you don’t want to?”

The boy shrugs. “I don’t know. I like math. But I like chemistry better.”

Tony grins. “Well, you don’t have to decide now. You’re young; you still have a few years before college, right? But do you get what I’m saying? Your father isn’t gonna change no matter what you do, and he’s always gonna leave, if he turns up at all.”

They sit in silence for a while and Tony takes the chance to finish his drink. Christ, he needs another after this. 

“What do I do, then?” 

“Can’t tell you, buddy. That’s your decision. If you like chemistry, do some more chemistry. If you don’t like baseball, quit the team and look for something you like better. And if your dad promises he’ll come and do stuff with you, don’t expect him to actually make good on that. It’ll take some time and practice, but eventually it won’t feel so shitty when he leaves ‘cos you don’t expect it anymore.”

“Is that what you did?”

_Damn, that kid’s clever._ “Eventually. Took me a while to figure it out. Which is why I’m telling you. You can save yourself a lot of bad feelings if you go into this with your eyes open.”

Malik nods and this time it actually looks like the message is starting to sink in. Tony gives him a couple of minutes before speaking again. 

“So, how can I cheer you up? You like the Avengers?”

And just like that, the kid’s face lights up. _I did that,_ Tony thinks, a little dazed by the intensity of the reaction. 

“Yes! And I have the entire set, and there were games in one pavilion where you could pretend you’re an Avenger, too, with your own powers, and I’m going to want that for my birthday,” Malik chatters away at a truly staggering speed. Are nine-year-olds supposed to be this fluent? Or playing that new role-playing game that’s due for release at the end of March? 

“Who’s your favorite, then?” Tony holds his breath a bit, ‘cos there’s always a chance the boy’s going to say Iron Man. 

“Captain America!” 

Okay, also a valid choice. Tony can empathize. 

“What would you say if I told you I could introduce you to the real Captain America?”

“Really?” 

“Sure thing.”

Malik seems too excited to actually form a reply, but the way he’s staring up at Tony in pure awe is getting his feeling across really well. 

“Let me just tell him and he’ll find us, how’s that sound?”

The boy is still struck speechless, so Tony proceeds to retrieve his phone and types in a quick command that will have J.J. tell Steve via his earpiece to come to the balcony. 

A few tense minutes later while Malik is anxiously rearranging his clothes and hiding the snotty handkerchief, a second door opens to their right and there’s Steve, slightly confused but still larger than life in his uniform. 

His eyes fall on the child and Steve immediately goes down on one knee so that he’s on his level. 

“This is Malik, and he’s having a bad day. Say hi to Captain Rogers, kiddo.”

Tony stands back as Malik tentatively shakes Steve’s outstretched hand and slowly comes out of his stupor. 

“Why don’t we go downstairs and see if there’s something you’d like to play with me?” Steve eventually suggests and Malik literally jumps in excitement. “Why don’t you find your mother so we can let her know you’re alright and I’ll be right behind you? But wait for me on this floor if your mother’s downstairs and I’ll accompany you, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Malik stands up straighter and nods, then dashes back into the main room while Steve rises from his crouch, smiling at Tony. 

“I love you so much right now,” he says, placing a brief kiss on Tony’s lips. 

Tony shrugs helplessly. “You’re his favorite Avengers. He was sad, now he’s not. Big deal.”

Steve huffs, stepping back. “Someday you’ll see yourself like I see you.”

“Until then, I’ll be at the bar. Have fun with the kid.”

Steve swoops in one more time, pulling Tony in with a hand at the back of his head, merely swiping his tongue over Tony’s bottom lip like the tease he can be if he’s in the mood. 

Tony gives a strangled moan, which seems to amuse his boyfriend to no end. Steve laughs as he withdraws, his breath warm against Tony’s cheek. 

“Later.”

Tony is feeling too wobbly right now to come up with a witty reply, so he just waves awkwardly, inhaling deeply once the door falls shut. 

There’s a rustling of leaves and Tony whips around, blood freezing in his veins at the sudden thought that someone saw – 

\- but it’s just a breeze and he rubs a hand across his face. He definitely needs a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs-Tony-tightly-and-never-lets-him-go* I made myself sad, now. And I want a holography system… and the new StarkPhone…


	11. A sober thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry y’all that this is a bit later than usual, but I had to watch Dylan O’Brien run away from Aiden Gillen for a few hours and I only just got back from the cinema ;) 
> 
> Fyi, in this chapter Clint mentions surpassing a butterfly while running, which is an actual feat, I assure you from personal experience. 
> 
> **Warnings** for alcoholism and alcohol recovery.  
>  I have never experienced or witnessed addiction to alcohol, though I have been struggling with my own demons (bulimia) for a while, so I draw a lot of inspiration from that as well as online resources. Everyone’s path to recovery is unique, but if there is anything about Tony’s journey that seems blatantly off, please don’t hesitate to point it out to me.

“Take care, Malik. It was great to meet you,” Steve says when the boy’s mother comes by to pick him up while his sister is half asleep in the woman’s arms. 

“Thank you, Captain America.”

The kid beams up at him and follows his mother without protest. Steve heads for the stairs and back to where the after party is still in full swing, knowing he should mingle some more but he looks for Tony anyway. 

He catches sight of the young Stark on the far left near the bar, whisky tumbler in one hand while the other is ushering none other than Charles Xavier towards a third, corpulent man with something that looks like a golden watch. Maybe a potential benefactor for Xavier’s institute? 

Tony doesn’t look Steve’s way, though, as he returns to the bar for a refill. He’s still steady on his feet but there is something about his movements and the way they are slightly delayed that makes Steve assume it is not by far Tony’s first glass of the evening. 

Someone slides up from behind him – Pepper, wearing a beautiful cocktail dress that flatters her figure and hair color, frowning as she follows Steve’s line of sight. 

“What happened?” she asks in a low voice. 

“He helped a boy who was crying because his father broke a promise.”

Pepper’s features soften immediately as she puts a hand on Steve’s arm. “Oh, Tony.”

“Should I do something?” 

She hesitates. “Well, whatever you do, don’t cut him off. He doesn’t take kindly to that.”

Steve snorts. “I noticed.” Her gaze turns questioning, so he elaborates. “We had a fight, at the facility. He was too drunk to operate anything, let alone the suit, and he wanted to fly back, so I told him he couldn’t.”

“I can imagine how well that worked out.”

“It’s fine. We made up.”

They watch quietly as a middle-aged couple ropes Tony into a conversation, clinking glasses with him as he entertains them with a charming and completely fake smile. 

“You know,” Pepper says wistfully, “for a moment I thought I could change him. That he would chose to stop because of me.”

“I don’t want him to change,” Steve shoots back. It comes out sharper than he intended and Pepper winces. “I just want him to be happy.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation he’s in a better place than I’ve ever seen him, now that he’s with you. Don’t let one or two bad days discourage you, Steve.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Now aren’t you going to ask a lady to dance?” 

She laughs at his open-mouthed expression, but she genuinely took him by surprise. He doesn’t think it is common for a man to dance with is current partner’s former dame. 

“Won’t that start rumors?” Steve cautions, though Pepper just waves his concerns away. 

“There are always rumors. But my boyfriend is in California and I want to dance without the hassle of explaining that I’m spoken for.”

“Well, in that case – shall we dance?” 

He offers her his arm, which she promptly takes and then leads her onto the dance floor. He remembers the steps well, even though it has been a long time since he used them. Dancing is a lot more enjoyable when he is not trying to impress his partner, and the fact that Pepper is very skilled and graceful only adds to that. 

When they part, Pepper whispers in his ear, “Wait another hour and you can whisk Tony away without it being rude,” and Steve vouches to do just that. 

He spends the suggested time with Natasha and Wanda, who have apparently decided that he makes for an adequate dance partner. Never mind that Wanda only started learning to do so tonight from Nat. Somehow, Steve winds up teaching Pietro a few steps as well, who has a surprising sense of rhythm for a man who usually rushes everything. 

“I saw at least six camera phones aimed in your direction,” Tony tells them when he appears near their group at the edge of the dance floor where Steve is inhaling a glass of water. “I can’t wait for the vines.”

Steve tilts his head at him. “I think we have different definitions of what a vine is, Tony.”

“Oh, old man, you still have a lot to learn.” Tony’s speech is only a little slurred, probably barely noticeable if you don’t know him as well as Steve does. Nevertheless, it’s time to leave. 

“You can teach me tomorrow. For now I’d say, Avengers disassemble.”

“Were we ever assembled?” Pietro wonders, but Wanda is already pulling him back towards the dance floor, hints of red mist in her wake from joy.

“I’ll see if I can find the others,” Nat volunteers. “Bruce is our designated driver tonight. You guys need a ride?”

Steve shakes his head. “I brought the bike.”

“Sleep tight, love birdies,” Nat teases as she pulls herself up with a hand on Steve’s shoulders to kiss his cheek. “Be nice to him, Stark.”

“I promise I won’t bite. Unless he asks,” Tony purrs though Nat isn’t phased in the slightest. 

They sneak out and Tony has J.J. fly back the suit while Tony climbs on behind Steve, wrapping his arms tight around his waist after complaining the allotted three minutes about how boring Steve’s second helmet is and how much it sucks that Steve forces him to wear it every time (“If I fall, I’ll heal. You won’t Tony, end of discussion.” – “But it’s so bland! It doesn’t match my clothes at all!”).

By the time they reach the private elevator taking them right up to Tony’s suite, Steve hasn’t sorted out the dilemma he finds himself in. On the one hand Tony seems of sound mind, on the other he has been babbling about something to do with nanotechnology for the past ten minutes in a rather incomprehensible manner. 

Yet actually saying the words, ‘I won’t have sex with you tonight because you are too drunk’ seems a bit harsh. Besides, it won’t solve anything since it will only irritate Tony. 

To Steve’s great surprise, though, Tony announces he is going to get dressed for bed and brush his teeth as soon as they are inside his rooms. Not only does Tony actually follow up, he also doesn’t immediately pounce on Steve when he slides into bed with him, only wearing his pajamas. 

A pair of pinched eyebrows is the only thing that betrays his partner’s unease. Steve covers Tony’s hand with his own, running his thumb over sensitive skin. 

“What is it, Tony?”

Tony swallows, his throat working visibly even in the dim light from the lamp behind Steve on the bedside table. “Is it totally weird if I say I just want to cuddle? I mean, I could say something more manly, like, uh, ‘share body heat’ or something, but who’re we kidding, it’ll just be cuddling with a fancy name.”

A weight falls off Steve’s shoulders. “Well, I’m exhausted, so I’m all for it.” 

“ _You’re_ exhausted?” Tony smirks as he rearranges himself so that he fits into Steve’s side, right arm pulling his smaller frame closer. “I thought your endurance was the stuff of legends?”

“Small talk is my kryptonite.” Steve is only half-joking, if he is being honest.

“Then let’s act our age.” Tony huddles closer into Steve’s side, almost as if he is trying to get under his skin. 

_Too bad he has already made himself at home there,_ Steve catches himself thinking and is only glad that he didn’t say that out loud. 

When they kiss, Tony tastes nothing like himself; minty with a faint residue of alcohol that even the toothpaste couldn’t remove. Steve lies awake long after Tony has fallen asleep, his head nestled on Steve’s chest. 

* 

_02/28/2016 – Last Week Tonight with John Oliver_

_“This week everyone has been talking about one thing, namely how Tony Stark has been revealed to be an actual human being.” [laughter] “It’s true! Tony Stark actually has a heart! This groundbreaking and surprising revelation was caused by the keynote speech Stark gave at the StarkVision Launch Fair. And granted, people are also talking about the products – which they should because they have some really revolutionary features – but everyone’s been freaking out a bit since there were no fireworks or explosions during Tony Stark’s appearance.”_

*

_02/29/2016 – US Weekly_  
_Tango for three? Potts caught dancing with Steve Rogers_

_Virginia Potts, CEO of Star Industries, knows her dance moves, that’s for sure! Last night she showed them off at the StarkVision after party – with none other than Captain America!_  
_The couple was seen laughing and moving intimately on the dance floor, drawing many jealous glances. Many are speculating if Potts is the special someone Steve Rogers has previously alluded to._  
_Only Potts already is in a relationship – she was last seen at a Los Angeles restaurant with divorced doctor Juan Múnera Santos, with whom she has been going out for only a few weeks. Has their flame already burnt out? Or is Potts simply keeping her options open? Or is Steve Rogers more adventurous in his amorous activities than his 1918 birthdate might suggest?_

*

Tony blinks awake groggily, the slight soreness of his body the only testament to his binge yesterday. 

He reaches out for Steve though his hand connects with empty space and a piece of paper. 

_Good morning, Tony!_  
_I went running with Bucky and look forward to seeing you soon. Think of me in the shower ;)_

The emoticon makes him laugh. It occurs to him as he stretches that he has no idea when Steve wrote that note. 

“J., where’s Steve?”

“Captain Rogers is not on the premises, sir.”

“Ja-ay,” Tony groans. “Don’t pretend you don’t have access to every CCTV in a twenty mile radius on my first day of sobriety.”

“I was wondering whether or not you would remember that, sir.”

“So?”

If J.J. were able to sigh, he would, Tony’s sure of that. Maybe he should get working on that feature… “Captain Rogers is currently in Central Park for a run, accompanied by Sergeant Barnes as well as Mr. Wilson and Mr. Rhodes. Agent Barton seems to be with them also.”

“Seriously? How’d that happen?”

“Apparently Mr. Maximoff asked Agent Barton to join them to witness how the former would embarrass Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes.”

“The kid wants to show off, huh?”

“It appears so, sir.”

Tony rolls his head from side to side until something pops back into place. “Where’s the rest of the team?” 

“Agent Romanoff and Ms. Maximoff are sparring with Vision, sir, and Dr. Banner is meditating after his yoga session.”

Tony checks the clock, which reads seven AM. Knowing Steve and the others, they probably met up at six-thirty to go out for their run, which means Tony has time before they’re due to return. 

“J., remember my assignment?”

“If you are referring to the dossier about recovery strategies, then the answer is positive.”

“Alright, hit me, what’ve you got?”

Tony doesn’t really know what he expected (maybe an animated reading of the twelve steps or whatever), but nothing prepared him for the multiple layers of tabs J.J. is suddenly projecting all around him. 

“Okay… hang on, did you get rid of the booze?”

“Yes, sir. I have removed your stashes and shut away any remaining alcoholic beverages behind locks I control. The fully automated coffee machine at the facility will not allow you to chose one of the alcoholic options.”

“ _All_ my stashes? Even the one in the lab here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And _how_ did you get in there?” 

“I availed myself to the Mark XIII for removals that required finer motoric skills.”

Tony whistles lowly, pushing down the chill threatening to creep up his spine with the mental images that comment spawns. “Good thing you’re not interested in world dominance, right?”

“Indeed, sir.”

He glances at the tabs that are still floating all around him. “So, what’s all this, then?”

“Do you wish to hear my personal recommendations, sir?”

“Yeah, what the hell, gimme the cliff notes.”

“I have gathered some common steps that help sites usually name. You have already removed temptation. It is also highly recommended that you eat regular and healthy meals, exercise given the ensuing release of endorphins, and let close friends and loved ones know about your decision to start recovery.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, biting his lip. “We’re not doing that for a while.”

“May I enquire as to why, sir?”

“I just wanna wait ‘til I’ve gone a week or so, to see I can do it. What else?”

“You might want to develop new activities and interests to fill the time you do not spend drinking, respectively to serve as distractions in case the urge to drink arises, as well as find healthier ways to deal with stress. It is also advised that you avoid situations that will tempt you to drink, while also learning to say ‘no’ in social settings when offered an alcoholic beverage. Another page suggested you buy a piece of jewelry that will serve as a reminder of why you stopped drinking.”

Tony’s hand immediately moves to the dog tags on the bedside table Steve gave him, resting next to the still unsolved cube Vision gave him last Christmas. “Check.” 

“One other strategy I deem helpful in the case you experience an urge, sir, is to remind yourself of the ‘ugly side’ of your addiction.”

“Addiction’s such a big word, J., come on…”

“I apologize, sir, but my data indicates you fall into the category of the functional alcoholic subtype.”

“Says who?”

“The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. You meet three to four of the seven criteria, sir. And while my data does not lead me to assume your withdrawal symptoms will be severe enough to warrant medical assistance, I urge you to contact Dr. Banner should you experience confusion, disorientation, fever, hallucination, extreme agitation, sever vomiting or seizures.”

Tony can’t even really argue ‘cos J.J. is an AI designed to be better at this than a human, and questioning J.J.’s reasoning would equal criticizing himself as the creator… 

Something eerie occurs to Tony, then – he can’t say how many drinks he had the night before. Admittedly, he was thinking he could indulge, seeing as it was his last night and all, but… shouldn’t he have at least a bit of an idea? 

_I couldn’t have had more than seven, right?_

“J., how many drinks did I have last night?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

Tony swallows. He’s not even that hung-over today. And he wasn’t that drunk last night either, just coherent enough to know that Steve deserves better than a drunken fumbling session. 

He heaves a sigh and buries his face in his hands. Withdrawal symptoms, J. said. Well, he had slight tremors, back when he started dating Pepper and went without a drink for too long, but… nope, Tony can’t really talk himself out of that particular hole. 

“Tell me about withdrawal, J.”

“Based on earlier observations, I assume you will experience headaches, slight tremors, as well as some restlessness, trouble sleeping, and laps in concentration.”

“Brilliant.” Tony rises, taking a deep breath. “I can do this. Day one. Ground Zero. Uh…” J.J. said something about new hobbies, right? And eating healthy? “Hypothetically, if I wanted to cook breakfast for the team, would I – a: have enough time, and b: not screw it up completely?”

“You have enough time for a shower and preparing breakfast before the team returns, sir. If you accept my assistance, I also believe you to be able to produce something edible.”

Tony claps his hands together and grins. “Then let’s do this!”

*

_I really gotta shape up,_ is what goes through Clint’s mind as he pants his way through Central Park. 

It’s not that he doesn’t have any endurance – because he already drew past two middle-aged women, a group of three men, several individual hobby joggers and maybe a butterfly, so there – it’s just that Steve and Bucky basically waved them goodbye as soon as they exited the tower, and even Sam and Rhodey left him behind a mile into their run. Not to mention their little Road Runner… 

Speaking of which, Clint’s ears are picking up on a by now familiar sound of inhumanly fast steps. His arm darts to his right and misses, just like the last two times he tried. 

“I guess third time is not the charm?” Pietro sneers, now on Clint’s left and running backwards so he can take in the entire scope of Clint’s failure. 

“Yeah, well, the game’s rigged; I can’t even win,” he grumbles, weirdly proud when he doesn’t need to interrupt his speech for huffs of breath. 

“No, you just need to practice more!”

With that, the kid’s off before Clint can tell him about his great idea. He’s pretty sure no one’s introduced Pietro to the Road Runner yet; and man, this is going to be hilarious and Stark’s gonna hate it.

A pair of giggling teenage girls, also in cold-resistant running gear, draws his attention a little way down the path. They have slowed their pace to be able to look at their respective phones. 

At least Clint’s more sedate pace puts enough distance between him and the others that no one recognizes him as part of their crew. He can’t wait to check Twitter at breakfast and mock them relentlessly. 

_Damn,_ his sides are beginning to sting a bit… He shouldn’t have agreed to go, seriously. But he didn’t actually have much of a choice, what with those sparkling grey eyes aimed in his direction. There might be people out there who would have been able to say no to Pietro, but Clint ain’t one of them. So he’d donned some generic running clothes Tony keeps around the communal changing rooms, and off he was. 

Finally the Central Park Carousel comes into view, which means that Clint’s almost done with his lap (if you can call zigzagging aimlessly through the park a ‘lap’). Pietro approaches again just as Clint is about to exit the Park a short time later and cross onto 59th, so he extends his hand, fully expecting to hit nothing but air, yet his palm connects with the cold exterior of Pietro’s insulated running shirt. 

“Ha!” he cries, jumping a bit as he grins at the kid. “Gotcha!”

Pietro slow-claps, though there’s enough mirth in his eyes to give Clint pause. 

“Wait, you didn’t just let me grab you, did you?”

“Does it make a difference if I pretend you succeeded?”

Oh, the young man doesn’t know what he’s handing over. “You’re aware you’ll never hear the end of this, right?”

Pietro nods, still smirking, then falls into step next to Clint. A few moments pass in silence, filled only with Clint’s ridiculously loud breathing, which is slightly awkward but whatever, man. 

“Ey, anyone shown you the Road Runner yet?”

He gets a shake of the head and a pair of raised eyebrows. 

“You’re gonna love it, I swear – I’ll show you some clips, I’m sure J.J. got some. It’s this cartoon, and there’s this coyote – you know what? Never mind, I don’t want to spoiler you.”

“I look forward to it,” Pietro says, sounding genuine. 

Well, it won’t be strange for Clint to show Pietro something. They have been spending a lot of time together since the whole Clint-punching-Phil-in-the-face-and-then-ignoring-his-existence thingy, so… 

“On your left!” Steve’s voice calls and two seconds later, Cap and Bucky are sprinting past them down Park Avenue towards where the tower is looming over the city. All right, nestled in between other tall buildings, you get the idea. 

“You not gonna race them?” Clint asks, poking Pietro with his elbow. 

“Sure. But I have time still.”

“Haha, kid, don’t let them hear you say that.”

“Not planning to.” 

Pietro winks, then dashes off and by the time Clint reaches the ‘hidden’ private entrance to the tower, four disgruntled faces explain better than words ever could that Steve and Bucky did overtake Sam and Rhodey on the home stretch, but Pietro beat them to the finishing line. 

Clint’s still laughing at their faces when they enter the showers and Sam throws his sweaty t-shirt at him (and misses, because _hello_ , Clint is a professional). 

What’s peculiar about the tower’s communal showers, located near the gym, is that they never actually used them when they were all staying here in between Hydra raiding parties. Yet at the facility, everyone’s using them (even Bucky, after a few failed starts) and the habit apparently carried over to their trip to NYC. 

Both here and upstate there are a few stalls in case anyone needs privacy, but none of them ever actually did – not even Tony, who insists the water pressure in his master bathroom is better, which is why he skips out on communal post-training showers entirely. Clint is pretty sure that this particular habit has nothing to do with water pressure and everything with Tony’s body image issues, though no one calls him out on it. Okay, and Bruce usually showers alone since it takes him longer to get his wits back after hulking out. Wanda also bowed out, which Clint can sort of understand since she’s a young woman who’s not too comfortable with blatantly sexual situations, and Pietro never showers with them either, for that matter. 

Granted, he’d probably be dressed before Clint even got one single toe wet… and now he’s thinking about Pietro in the shower, _stopping that train of thought right now, fuck…_

“You okay, man?” Bucky asks from the showerhead right across from Clint, who realizes that he must have made some sort of annoyed or frustrated sound. 

“Yeah, yeah, just hungry from all the running.”

“I’m sure Bruce already started on breakfast,” Nat chimes in from his left. 

She’s only half-right, as it turns out, because there is a decidedly delicious smell in the hallway as they approach the kitchen after they grabbed some SHIELD-issued sweat pants and hoodie (or their own clothes, like Natasha who of course had the foresight to stash some in the changing room). 

It’s not Bruce at the stove, though. 

It’s _Tony_.

“What the hell, man?” Clint blurts, aiming a worried look at a hovering Bruce who just holds up his hands. 

“I had nothing to do with this. He’s been cooking since before I got here.”

“Please tell me you supervised?” Nat asks, and thankfully Bruce nods. 

“Stop pouting,” Tony orders, pointing a scapula at them. “You’ll be eating your words once you actually taste this!”

Steve chuckles, stepping closer. “Please tell me you didn’t put actual words in there? I know I’m not that up-to-date on recipes, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you make scrambled eggs.”

“Bite me, Rogers,” Tony grumbles, though there’s no heat in it and Steve just grins wider, wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist and pulling him into a kiss.

Clint never really knows what to do with their PDA – on the one hand the sight of them kissing or cuddling reminds him of how alone Clint himself is, but on the other… they’re just too damn adorable. 

He turns towards the nearby table to sit down, only to find Pietro already looking at him with an indecipherable expression. It’s gone before he can figure out what it means, replaced by a close-mouthed smirk. 

“So, when are you going to show me this Road Runner thing?” he asks, his accent making the ‘r’s roll off his tongue. 

“NO!” Tony shouts just as Clint is about to speak. “No showing him the Road Runner! _Jeez,_ you got any idea what that’ll do? J., new executive order,” the man announces, wielding the spatula like a laser pointer. “Do not, under any circumstances, let Pietro or anyone in his vicinity access any cartoons featuring the Road Runner. Or any other clips, just ban the entire meme, got it?”

“What reason shall I file with the directive, sir?” the AI deadpans. Or at least that’s how it sounds to Clint because there’s no way J.J. is going to take that seriously. 

“You’ll think of something, I got faith in you.”

“What’s the Road Runner?” Steve asks, causing Tony to groan and Clint to squint at his Captain. 

“Come on, man, really? Never heard of the Looney Toons? I mean, Bucky’s confusion I get,” he concedes, nodding towards where Barnes has narrowed his eyes at the proceedings at the other end of the table. “But you’ve been defrosted for years now, Steve!”

“I guess I’ll put it on the list,” Steve decides magnanimously, not making a move for pen or paper. 

“Damn, you still got that going?” Sam wonders, placing another jug of juice on the table. (Clint soon learnt that there are enough folks with helper syndromes on the team that he never needs to set anything if he doesn’t get in the way.) 

Steve sighs. “Yes; it’s longer than ever. There’s so much to keep up with now.”

That makes Tony turn around again from where he was pushing finished eggs into a basin, directing a leer at Steve. “Be sure to put Ben Wa balls on that, honey.”

Clint splutters at _that_ mental image and a second later there are ten pairs of eyes focused on him. He feels heat rise in his cheeks. 

“What?”

Rhodey is shaking his head across the table. “I really don’t wanna know.”

“You should see your face, Stevie,” Bucky jeers. “Even I know what they are!”

“Which begs the question of _how_?” Tony asks, seeming torn between slightly aroused interest and trying not to imagine any hypothetical contexts. 

Bucky shrugs, taking a sip from his orange juice. “Some show I watched.”

“Shameless?” Rhodey suggests, since he’s the only one in their group who manages to keep up with TV shows (maybe it’s his secret mutation?). 

Bucky snaps his fingers at him. “Yeah, that one!”

“How come you watch that?”

Another shrug. “The chick was hot. And they’re all criminals, so I can empathize.”

That makes Steve tear his eyes away from Tony. “You’re not a criminal! You’ve been cleared of all charges!”

“Ladies,” Tony interrupts. “You want breakfast, you gotta sit down.”

Steve obeys but not without fixing his best friend with a stern glare. Tony places a dish with sausages in the middle of the table, swiftly following it up with a plate of pancakes, a bowl of fruit salad, yoghurt, and two large basins of scrambled eggs. 

“Wow,” Clint can’t help but blurt, “that actually looks edible, Stark!”

“Matilda would be proud,” Steve adds, squeezing Tony’s fingers where they just closed around his fork. 

“Who’s that?” Nat asks. 

Steve grins at his partner. “Tony’s childhood cook.”

Of course Tony Stark would have a cook as a kid. 

“Damn,” Clint sighs. “What even is your life, man?” 

Tony’s eyes sparkle when they meet his, then glance at Steve before saying all soft and gooey. “Yeah, I know.”

*

It’s about twelve hours later, after start-of-the-week team meeting, some quality time at the range and outdoor practice of some new training maneuvers Steve came up with after flying back to the facility, that Clint finds his way to Pietro’s rooms. 

The young man’s walls used to be bare for a long time until Clint dragged him and his sister along to the City one Saturday afternoon to shop for stuff to make their rooms feel more homey. They met up for dinner with Cooper, Lila, Nathan and Karen before parting ways, both of the twins laden with shopping bags. What? Steve had given them the team’s credit card when he learnt about the purpose of their trip… Clint figured he might as well use it. 

So now Pietro’s rooms have at least shed their clinical look. For some reason, most of the stuff is posters or little things from books. “I read a lot,” was all Pietro said, but his lips were pressed into a thin line so Clint decided to drop it. 

“Pietro?” he asks as he enters, but his eyes have already found the boy. Doing pull-ups on the doorframe leading to his bedroom. Shirtless. 

Pietro drops to the floor gracefully, aiming a wide smile at him. Clint swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. 

“Hello! One second.”

Which in Pietro’s case is to be taken literally – one moment later the man ( _the young, very young man_ ) is in front of Clint, dressed but his hair tousled from the exercise. 

“You think Stark’s machine will let us watch?”

Clint has to clear his throat before he trusts his voice. “Sure, man. J.J. would never deprive anyone of some fun on Stark’s expense. And hey, it’s a big part of American popular culture, and you need to study that for, I don’t know, important superhero reasons. Right, J.?”

“You raise a valid point, Agent Barton.”

“Awesome! Then let’s do this.”

J.J., being the helpful AI that he is, has of course lined up the most popular clips for them to watch, starting with the first episode. Clint realizes that he’s forgotten how silly some of those cartoons could be, but Pietro’s chuckling or sometimes laughing, the smile never really leaving his face, which he counts as a success. 

Then the Coyote climbs on top of a tall rock [with bow and arrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezRcWPGMTSE). 

Pietro takes one look and immediately gives a full-bellied laugh, only laughing harder when the Coyote unsurprisingly fails shooting the bird. 

“Don’t say it,” Clint tells him, but Pietro is already trying to get his laughter under control. “Don’t say it, man!”

“You’re the Coyote!” Pietro gasps, holding his stomach with one hand and wiping his eyes with the other. “You never catch me either!” 

“But the Coyote does catch him!” Clint protests, though he’s smiling. “Jarvis, show us!”

It’s a little disappointing because [the Coyote is tiny](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kP2piN-03k) and the Road Runner can’t even see the guy when he “catches” him, and then it’s just weird since the other clip shows Coyote roasting the bird. 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.”

“You not going to make me into food? I’m touched, really,” Pietro jokes. “So what are these Looney Tunes?”

Clint takes the change of topic in stride, especially because it gives him an excuse to stay and watch more clips. 

“I’m glad you asked! Oh, wait – you know that catchphrase yet?”

Pietro shakes his head. 

“Okay, first Bugs Bunny, then How I Met Your Mother, hang on…”

“You met my mother?” Pietro’s tone is a blend of confusion and apprehension and Clint could hit himself. 

“Oh shit, no, sorry. It’s a TV show, you’ll see.”

When Clint looks at the clock the next time, his eyes almost fall out of his head like the Coyote’s did once. 

“Shit, man, it’s almost two. I should let you get some sleep,” he offers, only to receive a shrug in return. 

“I do not need much sleep.”

“Well, I do. And I don’t wanna have to deal with Cap’s disappointed stare tomorrow when I yawn my way through hand-to-hand training.”

Pietro snorts, shaking his head. “Puny human.”

“Ey, no stealing Hulk’s catch phrases! You got your own.” 

“But it doesn’t suit the moment.”

“Well, guess you gotta get more creative, kiddo.”

Clint pats him on the back, regretting it immediately because the shirt Pietro’s wearing? Not particularly thick, which means he can feel the muscles underneath it perfectly. Damn, he better get outta there. 

“I will work on it,” Pietro promises as Clint rises. One blink later the boy is at the front door, holding it open with a flourish. “Need help, old man?”

“I may be human, but I’m still able to walk, thank you.”

It comes out a bit terser than Clint intended and Pietro’s face sobers immediately. “You may be human,” he says, “but you’re important to the team.”

“Jeez, yeah, got the lecture from Cap after I made a crack about my hearing aids; I get the picture –”

“Still, we do not tell you often enough. We forget what it’s like to have limitations sometimes, but you always remind us. It keeps us grounded.”

Clint blinks as something warm unfurls inside his chest. “Thank you,” is all he manages, though it seems to suffice to get Pietro to stop with the pep talk. 

“Goodnight,” the other man says instead and Clint echoes him before making his way back to his quarters, his head a mess of conflicting desires. 

*

The next day, Pietro enters the kitchen for breakfast after everyone else. He stops next to Tony who’s just about to sit down, says “Beep beep!” and whooshes off. 

“Oh no, he didn’t – BARTON!” 

Clint dives behind the sofa to take cover. 

*

Tony is acting strangely and Steve has no idea what’s going on. 

“Well, now that the Fair’s over I got all this free time since I’m not fretting about that anymore,” was all Tony had to say on that matter, but that isn’t it. 

By Saturday, Tony has cooked breakfast or helped Bruce cook breakfast three more times. He even listened during most of Monday’s team meeting instead of playing with his phone, finally wrote up the last of his mission reports when they got back to the facility, and the weirdest thing of all probably is how he asked Bruce if he could join him during his meditation sessions in the mornings while Steve is out for a run.

Steve also hasn’t discovered any empty whisky tumblers in the sink of Tony’s personal kitchen. Granted, there are stretches of three days sometimes when it doesn’t happen, yet today marks the fifth day of this mysterious disappearance of alcohol. 

And now Tony is bouncing off the walls of his living-room-slash-office, a wide, open design with sufficient workspace for five people, while Steve is trying to concentrate on the training schedule for the next three weeks. 

Due to the UN’s approval of SHIELD in January, the agency has been allowed to recruit new agents again and the first batch of trainees will arrive mid-March. Steve and the team agreed to assist SHIELD with their training, obviously barring international emergencies, and that is going to cut down their own sessions. It’s fine, though, since they are all well attuned by now and merely need sufficient time per week to maintain this level of unity. 

“Tony, can you stop that?” Steve asks as nicely as possible after Tony spent approximately five minutes tapping the armrest of his chair with his fingers. 

“Sorry!”

Not three minutes pass and Tony is on his feet again, pacing while frowning down at his tablet. 

“Tony.”

The other man freezes mid-stride. “Sorry.”

“No, just – what’s going on?” Steve puts down his pencil and crosses the space to where Tony is still standing stock-still.

“Nothing.”

“You’re pacing. You never pace, so something’s definitely up, and I have no idea how to help.”

Tony bites his lip. “Maybe it’s not for you to fix.” 

“Then I’ll just listen.”

Tony hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. “It’s fine, it’s nothing, ignore me, alright?”

There’s a shadow in Tony’s eyes, however, that exposes that platitude as the empty phrase it is. Steve steps into Tony’s personal space, not sure whether to touch him or not in case the gesture will spook him. He seems skittish, somehow. 

“You can tell me everything, Tony, you know that, right? I won’t judge you.”

“It’s nothing like that, Steve, really. Just me being my old, pathetic self, it’ll blow over, go back to your –”

“You’re not pathetic, Tony!” His hands find Tony’s shoulders and stop him from fleeing the room like he very obviously wants to. “You’re kind and smart and, yeah, maybe a bit troubled, but everyone on this team is, and I love all of you, flaws included. So please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

“I want a fucking drink!” Tony bursts out, his tone harsh and cutting, shoving Steve’s hands off. “I’m supposed to revise these stupid schematics for R&D and all I can fucking think about is how much a scotch would help, or maybe some bourbon, shit; I’d even take a freaking Bud Light right about now, this is how much I want it!”

Steve is rendered speechless by the outburst and he can but watch as Tony starts pacing again, continuously running a hand through his hair.

“Funny thing – I didn’t realize just how much I _was_ drinking. I mean, I didn’t even have to _buy_ the booze, bless the house staff and standing orders on keeping the cabinet filled, so how was I supposed to remember how many glasses I had each day? Damn, I can’t even remember most people’s birthdays.” He turns, raising a finger. “Don’t worry, though, J. reminded me of Barnes’ special day next week, and Mission ‘Birthday Party’ is a-go.” Then his face falls. “Fuck, there’s gonna be beer at the party, right?”

“Tony, Tony, hang on –” Steve’s voice finally starts working again. “You’re saying you stopped drinking?”

The other man gives a jerky nod. 

“When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Tony shrugs, looking at the ground. “Monday, right after the Fair. And I didn’t even know if it’d keep, Steve. What if I’d told you and three days later would’ve ruined it again?” 

There’s a sliver of frustration rising in Steve’s chest at how little Tony seems to trust him after all these months, but he swallows that down immediately. Accusations are not what Tony needs right now. 

Instead he envelopes Tony into a hug and kisses the spot behind his ear. “I’m proud of you for quitting, love.”

Tony’s fingers scrunch up his shirt on his back, scraping the skin underneath just enough for Steve to register. “Don’t put on a parade yet, though, or weren’t you listening? I’m ten seconds from busting open the electronic lock on the mini-bar.”

“So I’ll distract you,” Steve suggests, pulling back enough to be able to look Tony in the eye. “We could spar? Only the two of us?” His voice dips in a lower register and he raises an eyebrow in a way that’s hopefully as salacious as he intends it to be.

At any rate, his efforts manage to get a soft smile out of Tony. 

“That a yes?”

“Beats playing kindergarten teacher for the idiots from R&D.”

“I’m sure their reading level’s higher than that.”

“Yeah, but that’s the only thing. I mean, aren’t there any better engineers out there? Maybe HR’s gotta rework the benefits system or something, draw better applicants…”

Steve snorts, because from what he heard, a job at Stark Industries is every graduate’s wet dream already. “I’m sure they’re all the best in their fields – you’re just operating at an entirely different level.” 

“Mhh, stroking my ego works, if you’re aiming for distraction… Great, now I’m thinking about drinking again,” Tony complains, letting himself fall forward and burring his face in Steve’s neck. 

He rubs Tony’s shoulders. “Come on; you’ll be feeling a lot better after I hand you your ass in the ring.”

“Not making it sound that appealing, you know.”

“I’ll wear the shirt.”

Tony’s head whips up, eyes bright. “Gimme three seconds to change.”

Steve chuckles as the other man sprints into his bedroom, following at a more sedate pace. He isn’t sure how the staff knew to put most of his clothes into Tony’s bedroom closets, but he has no right to complain given how easy it makes getting dressed in the mornings. He wonders if Tony noticed Steve has basically moved in with him in all but name. There is even an easel and some paint supplies near the door leading out to the balcony. 

He finds ‘the shirt’ with the rest of his workout clothes. It’s actually really bland, an unremarkable unicolor white cotton tee, yet Tony loves it on him because it clings to Steve’s skin once he’s worked up a sweat. Sam says he could put every stripper in the State of New York to shame, but Steve isn’t sure if he meant it as a compliment or tried to tell him to never wear the thing in public again unless being paid to do so. 

In order to keep Tony from relapsing, however, Steve will gladly put it on. 

Since sparring with Tony is more fun than actual training – at least for Steve – he spends most of the time questioning his boyfriend about his newfound sobriety. He pointedly doesn’t ask about Tony’s reasons, though, no matter how much he wants to know if Tony decided to quit after their fight a week ago. 

“So that’s why you’ve been making breakfast?”

“Yup,” Tony says, executing a fairly decent side kick. 

“Higher,” Steve tells him, and Tony tries again, but his core isn’t tense enough and he wobbles a little. 

“And the meditation?”

“J.’s been compiling suggestions and strategies, and a common one seems to be to relax or something. Figured if Bruce can teach Speedy Gonzales to keep still, it’ll work with me, too.”

“Let me guess, he turned a little green?”

“Oh, ye of little faith!” Tony laments, then admits, “Maybe his eyes. But sitting still so long’s hard, okay?”

“I’m sure with enough practice, you’ll excel at that as well.”

“Too bad the same can’t be said about this.” Tony jabs, following it up with a swift cross and an uppercut, all of which Steve blocks easily. 

“You’re a good fighter, Tony. You’ll win against any average assailant.”

“Good, then I can ward off muggers in the street!”

“And certain Hydra foot soldiers,” Steve deadpans. 

They keep going until Tony says he’s feeling more stable and then drags Steve back to his rooms where he pushes Steve up against the door and drops to his knees. They are both wearing matching smirks when they wander into the communal kitchen for a post-workout snack. 

“It’s like you’re wearing a sign above your head, brother,” Sam comments from where he’s drinking tea at the dinner table. “Can’t believe no one caught you two, yet. A neon sign wouldn’t be more obvious.”

“We’ve been lucky, I guess,” Steve concedes only to have Tony slap his forearm. 

“You totally jinxed us, Cap.”

“Well, it is after the Fair, right?”

Tony meets his eyes and Steve sees the uncertainty there, quickly replaced by joy as Tony realizes Steve still means it. 

Sam sighs. “I swear you just had an hour-long conversation over there.”

Steve smiles at him. “We’ve agreed that once the Fair’s over we wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep our relationship a secret.”

Sam’s eyebrows rise at that. “You sure you know what you’re in for, dude?”

“Can’t be worse than what I’ve already been through.”

“True,” the man concedes, going back to his tea while Steve accepts a banana from Tony, whose leer is enough to make him blush. 

Pointedly, Steve takes out a plate and a knife and proceeds to eat the banana that way instead of just biting off pieces, to Tony’s endless amusement. 

Sam is hiding his laughter behind his teacup. 

“Sir, Ms. Potts is on the line.”

“Put her through, J.,” Tony says around a mouthful of apple and a moment later a tab appears in the middle of the kitchen island, floating a few inches above the surface and showing Pepper’s frowning features. “What happened?”

Pepper seems pained. “A reporter from the New York Times just gave me a courtesy heads-up about their headline for tomorrow’s issue.”

Steve feels Tony tense next to him. “What’re they running?”

“Tony,” the CEO sighs, “she saw you on the balcony last week. There’s an audio recording. We need to talk about how we’re going to handle this.”

Shocked silence falls over the room.

_Jinxed indeed,_ Steve thinks bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will open with the article, which was great fun to write (at least after the third draft). It’s all half as bad, really!
> 
> Yet I'm afraid chapter 12 will probably have to wait until Tuesday rather than Monday, since I’ll be – _gosh_ – watching Hamlet at the Barbican in London with Benedict Cumberbatch =) … after which I’ll also visit Cardiff and check the Torchwood Towers off my Things To See Before I Die List, YES! (sorry, ignore me, I’m psyched about the holiday!) 
> 
> Road Runner links: [coyote catches him](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kP2piN-03k) and [Beep Prepared](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezRcWPGMTSE), featuring bow and arrow.  
> I’d also like to share my [Pietro-does-pull-ups-shirtless research](http://www.buzzfeed.com/lyapalater/lets-take-in-aaron-taylor-johnsons-transformation-into-mega#.qkdaj2xzG) with you because of… reasons. 
> 
> Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the update =)


	12. The Hero With A Thousand Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the delay! I was on holiday in London and the wifi at our flat gave out last Monday so I couldn’t post, and once I was in Cardiff I was too busy falling in love with the city to clear my head enough to publish. Here you go, finally! I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter nevertheless :) 
> 
> **Warning for referenced non-con** in the second half of this chapter. If content like that unsettles or triggers you, read carefully. If you want to skip it, simply stop reading after the original character Chad makes his first appearance. 
> 
> PS: I got a little carried away with the world building (aka the article) in this chapter. I am not sorry^^

**THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES**  
By Lucia Muños

Over the last decade I have met many incarnations of the famous Tony Stark. We first crossed paths in 2006 when I was fresh out of college and an impressionable intern at the New York Times. I accompanied a more seasoned colleague to a weapons’ fair and was allowed to sit in on the interview between Kearney and Stark, who acted like the charming playboy I expected him to be. At the end of our allotted thirty minutes I had been offered a trip in Stark’s private jet where – as he made abundantly clear – I could join the mile high club. I declined, citing my girlfriend at the time, whom Stark invited along with a leer.  
One and a half years later I glimpsed Stark at a charity gala for the Maria Stark Foundation, two attractive women on his arms and chugging glasses of champagne like they were shots or water. In the year between then and the infamous press conference after Stark’s escape from the Ten Rings in Afghanistan, I had established myself as a permanent fixture in the NYT editorial room and got first crack at the conference tapes once they had been uploaded onto the servers.

**Pride comes before the fall**

For the first time I began to doubt my idea of whom I thought Tony Stark to be. Everyone who has seen the footage will second that he was a changed man, on the brink of heralding a new era not only for Stark Industries, but for the world.  
And he knew it, too – the StarkExpo of 2010 proved just how large the man’s ego really was. I recall being irritated at how a man of such intellect wielding such great power could be such an arrogant, narcissistic prick (I apologize for the vulgar expression, though it is a direct quote from past me and I have yet to think of a more polite way to phrase the sentiment).  
Even my OP-ED article of that time bore the title, “Pride comes before the fall”, in which I prophesied Stark’s phoenix-from-the-flames metaphor to come burning down around him if he did not learn humility.  
Many tried to teach him this lesson, and when the news broke that Tony Stark had, in fact, wittingly taken a nuclear missile into another galaxy despite the high risk of dying in the process… Well, I for one thought maybe the Chitauri had succeeded where Ivan Vanko had apparently failed.

**The fall of the phoenix**

Too bad he had to ruin it all by giving his home address to a known terrorist, then not reinforcing security measures at said address in another blatant example of his careless ego. And despite reports of PTSD, Stark seemed to be compensating by taking over the Avengers Initiative, which earned him a lot of scorn from the public who were afraid Stark wanted to privatize world security. He has done that, in a way, especially given Stark Industries’ involvement with the newly instated S.H.I.E.L.D. The one face of Tony Stark that has never changed is, after all, that of the businessman.  
Then, however, came Ultron. The catastrophe was born out of allures of grandeur; the culmination point of the mounting superiority complex Stark had developed ever since donning the Iron Man suit. When he withdrew from the public after the Avengers managed to save the world at the last minute, I have to admit my thoughts were spiteful. “Serves him right,” I said to my colleagues after the pictures of Stark looking gaunt and sickly broke in September of last year.  
Unsurprisingly, Tony Stark landed on his feet, resuming his role as Iron Man after a brief hiatus and supplying the world with a new operating system that still baffles our tech staff since they cannot figure out how it exactly works.

**The game-changing keynote**

The news that Tony Stark would give the keynote speech at the StarkVision Launch Fair, which promised to present several revolutionary new products, caused much excitement among the public. So much so, in fact, that the actual event disappointed a number of journalists.  
Personally, I was not so much disappointed than I was confounded. “Who is this man and what has he done to Tony Stark?” I wondered while Stark talked about how Ultron’s epic failure had humbled him and caused a reordering of his priorities.  
Charming journalists did not make the cut, as it turned out at the exclusive Q&A immediately after the keynote. I have seen Stark flirt with many reporters, heard even more tales of his exploits, though I knew what kind of man he is… His behavior at the Q&A, however, was completely at odds with anything I had witnessed previously: there was no flirting, only a minimal sliver of charm. He kept his answers brief and to the point, without embellishing his own heroic efforts in creating the tech that will make us all safer.  
And this is where the story takes an exciting turn…

**The real Tony Stark**

Much has been written on what to make of the newest side of one of the brightest minds of our time. Nothing did more than scrape the surface. I wanted to go deeper, find out if, as John Oliver put it, Tony Stark actually does have a heart.  
As main politics and superhuman affairs correspondent to the New York Times, I attended the Launch Fair’s after party. Equipped with an audio recorder and professional curiosity, my plan was to seek out Mr. Stark in the hopes of a private interview. I caught sight of him escaping the ballroom onto a balcony, following with every intention of making my presence known, yet before I could Stark had discovered someone else on that balcony.  
It was a young boy, maybe ten years of age, who was sobbing quietly in the shadows next to a potted plant. I fully expected Stark to turn on his heels and crash into me in the process, but nothing of the like occurred. Instead, Tony Stark talked to the child like any decent human being would have, asking if he could help, if he wanted to talk, even offering him his pocket square to use as a tissue.  
The source of the boy’s unhappiness lay in the early departure of his father who, by the sound of it, was barely around. His son even joined the baseball team at his school in the hopes his Dad would come to his games like he does with the NBA.  
Throughout the entire conversation, Tony Stark was not Iron Man, or the phoenix risen from the ashes, or the defeated man from the grainy pictures. He was a son – not the Son of Howard Stark, Heir to SI and Merchant of Death, but son with an un-capitalized ‘s’. A son who seemed to be destined to always disappoint his father, who was never good enough, who wished for praise but received only orders to do better.  
Tony has never said much about Howard Stark publicly. Howard has always been this larger-than-life shadow, a great inventor, co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. and a pair of enormous shoes to fill, and a father whom Tony loved. To hear him speak so freely and negatively was eye-opening.  
“Listen to me, buddy. I’m going to tell you a secret, okay?” he said to the boy. “Thing is, a lot of dads leave, or aren’t always there. And nothing you can do will change that. You can play baseball, or learn how to build a circuit board, or program a robot because your old man likes all these things, but he won’t spend more time with you.”  
When the child wanted to know the reason for this, Stark did not placate nor soothe, nor promise better times. Instead, he was honest, drawing as it became abundantly clear, from personal experience:  
“Okay, another secret: Just because someone is your father doesn’t make them a good father, alright? You’d think that evolution would’ve programmed us all to be good parents, but truth is – some people make shitty parents. Yours? I’m sorry, buddy, but he doesn’t.”  
The child remained optimistic. “Can I make him good?” he asked, and Stark’s reply was instantaneous: “If you’re one of the unlucky kids who got a bad father, there’s nothing you can do to change that. It’s not your fault, it’s his. And he’s never going to change, not even if you go on and play for the NBA one day.”  
The most blatant light he shed on his own relationship with his father followed soon after: “But do you get what I’m saying? Your father isn’t going to change no matter what you do, and he’s always going to leave, if he turns up at all.”  
Tony did not leave the boy behind like this, however. Once he had delivered these harsh truths, he questioned the child on what he likes and when the little one admitted that Captain America is his favorite Avenger, Stark did not hesitate to fetch Steve Rogers, who was mingling in his uniform. The child was overjoyed at getting to play with his favorite superhero, leaving behind a Tony Stark that looked more human than I have rarely seen anyone.

**Unmasked at last?**

I am aware that my actions fell outside what is considered journalistic integrity. I spent long hours agonizing over the question of what to do with these findings. In the end, a sense of justice prevailed: Tony Stark deserves a better image. He is not the man he has been pretending to be for a long time. I am not saying he is just a boy whose absent father drove him to seek approval from the world by making it a better place. I am not saying he is a misunderstood genius who deserves more respect. I am not saying he isn’t still a bit arrogant. I am not saying he is only a hero.  
What I am saying is that he is a hero with a thousand faces, yet a hero nonetheless. He has dropped many of his shields and walls during the Launch Fair, giving us a glimpse into his inner workings and the burden he is carrying. On that balcony with me as hidden witness, he removed yet another layer. This might be the biggest one yet.  
I hope this will give all of those pause who insist on still calling Tony Stark a greedy capitalist who only serves his own interest, or those who say Stark’s chastened demeanor at the keynote is nothing but yet another act to boost his popularity in the wake of Ultron. Open your eyes and see him for the remarkable and complex individual that he is.

[ _You can listen to the entire audio file on www.nyt.com. The child’s voice has been modulated in order to preserve his identity._ ]

*

Tony got _nothing_. _Zilch. Nada. Nichts._ He can’t stop staring at the tab in front of him, which is a PDF version of the following day’s cover of the New York Times. 

The lead image is a collage of probably every famous picture ever taken of him in the past 45 years, from those awfully staged pics of him and Howard to the mug shots taken after his only publicized arrest for possession in his twenties, to the photo of him next to his pool at the tower, all coming together to make up one larger, stylized picture of him. It’s eye-catching and will surely boost sales and create one hell of a buzz. 

And Tony has no idea what to say; damn, he doesn’t even know how he’s feeling about this, anger and relief and fear and panic all intertwining in his head and creating a potent mix that blocks out everything else and _why can’t he fucking breathe –_

“Tony, look at me!”

Steve’s voice. Tony presses his eyes closed, and then opens them. His vision is blurred but when it clears he realizes he’s on the floor with Steve kneeling next to his hip, cradling his face in a hand. Pepper’s worried questions register in the background. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, let me up,” Tony promises, not even believing himself. Usually he knows what caused his anxiety, but this time it’s a mystery. _What the actual fuck._

Pepper seems to be thinking something along the same lines judging by her wide eyes and parted lips. She swallows, hesitating. “What was that, Tony?”

“Not exactly sure…”

“And why did both of you look like deer caught in the headlights? Did something else happen that day?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, taking over when Tony glances at him. “We kissed. There’s no way she didn’t see that from where she was hiding. I guess we thought that’s the story she wanted to break.”

“Which would’ve been fine,” Tony adds when his wits are finally returning. “I mean you know we want to stop with the whole hiding charade, Peps. But this…” He trails off, lacking a way to end the sentence. 

“You want me to file a cease and desist?” Pepper asks. “Because I can, if that’s what you want.”

And yet her tone betrays that she doesn’t particularly like that idea, Tony realizes in the few moments everyone is awaiting his call. Sam is hovering nearby, too, poised to help by the looks of it if Tony has another episode. 

“What do you think?” He keeps the question open, glancing at the three of them in turn. 

After exchanging a quick look with Steve, Pepper begins, “I wouldn’t muzzle them. This is, after all, very good press. Way better than anything Mike could ever have come up with, even though I understand that it will put you in a corner you never wanted to end up in. And… she could have outed you, which is, let’s not kid ourselves, the bigger fish here. She also could have just published tomorrow, completely blindsiding us.”

“She also could have asked permission first! How can she be allowed to do this?” Steve growls, harsh enough to make Tony wince. “Sorry, love,” he says immediately. 

Pepper shakes her head. “Tony is a person of public interest. We might have a case against her given that Tony wasn’t aware he was being recorded, but like I said. This is good publicity. We just need to figure out how we want to handle this.”

“Can we call her? Ask her why she didn’t out us? ‘Cos that’s what’s tripping me up.”

“Well, she mentions a girlfriend,” Steve points out, indicating the first paragraph of the article. “Maybe she respects our right to privacy.”

“Let’s call her and find out,” Pepper announces and J.J. dials without being explicitly ordered to. 

Sam raises a quizzical eyebrow to which Tony replies with an eloquent half-shrug ‘cos he really doesn’t care if he stays and listens in. Curiosity gets the better of the Avenger and he leans his hip against the edge of the kitchen island across from Steve and Tony. 

“Lucia Muños speaking.”

“Hello, Ms. Muños,” Pepper opens. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course, Ms. Potts. I gather you’ve read the article?”

“Yes. So has Tony.”

The woman swallows audibly. “Good.”

“Yeah,” Tony finally speaks up, “aside from the fact that you spied on me, which I can’t really condemn that much seeing as I’m financing a shadowy or, well, a trying-not-to-be-so-shadowy government organization, but for the record, Captain America is pissed at you right now.” He hears a faint chuckle on the other end of the line, ‘cos apparently this woman got some balls. “Anyway, what’s really tripping me up is how much you saw that night after the kid ran off.”

“You are referring to the kiss, Mr. Stark?”

“Duh.”

“Which we appreciate you not mentioning,” Steve adds, and for the first time the woman flails a little. 

“Thank you, uh, Captain.”

“What do you want for it?” 

“Tony!” Pepper chides, but Lucia Muños is laughing softly. 

“Sir, I know what being in a closet feels like, and the decision to get out of it should never be taken from anyone.”

Steve turns his palms up as if to say, ‘see?’ 

“Yeah, yeah, human decency isn’t dead, we’re all part of a community, we’ve gotta stick together, yada yada yada,” Tony continues. “But I don’t like to owe anyone anything. So, how can I return the favor?”

“By not suing me over this article,” Muños replies immediately. “And maybe by agreeing to do the first interview with no one other than me after you do come out or are accidentally outed.”

Tony turns to Steve with a shrug but his partner seems conflicted. “Only if you will let us sign off on it before publication.”

“That’s not how journalism works, Captain.”

“You are dragging an incredibly personal moment into the light and putting it on the cover of your newspaper, Ms. Muños,” Steve girts out, his hands twitching. Tony shouldn’t be thinking of how hot that is right now, seriously. “You are standing on very shaky ground.”

A pause, then. “Fine.”

Pepper pounces at the moment of silence. “Great. We won’t set our lawyers on you with a cease and desist, you won’t break the story of Tony and Steve’s relationship unless they come to you, and should said information be made public you will receive an exclusive interview which both parties will have to sign off on before publication. Shall I have legal draw up a contract?”

“I have a feeling ‘no’ might not be an acceptable answer.”

“Your feeling is correct, Ms. Muños.”

They say their goodbyes and Sam lets out a breath as soon as the dial tone rings. 

“Dude, I don’t envy your life.”

“Sometimes I hate reporters,” Steve grumbles, resting his forehead on Tony’s shoulder. “Why can’t they just leave us in peace?”

“We’ve had that conversation, honey,” Tony teases, huddling closer while both Pepper and Sam are regarding them with soft looks. 

“I betcha she totally planned this, though,” Falcon continues. “Be all nice and let you see the article before it hits the newsstands, then get an exclusive interview for her silence.”

“At least that I can deal with,” Tony mumbles against Steve’s shoulder. “Give and take, one hand washing the other…”

“We still need to work out how to respond to the article,” Pepper interrupts his musings and Tony lifts his head with a sigh. “What do you want the statement to say?”

Tony blows a raspberry, stroking Steve’s hipbone absentmindedly. Strangely that is what makes up his mind in the end. 

“Screw it,” he announces. “Confirm it. Confirm Howard was an absent father and an unfit parent. Say I loved him but that I learnt not to expect anything after a certain point. I’m not in his shadow anymore. I’m dating Captain America, for fuck’s sake!”

“I don’t think dating this fossil gives you any extra points, brother,” Sam quips. “Maybe even minus points.”

Steve waves him off and Tony sticks out his tongue, ‘cos he just acted really mature and his system apparently needs to rebalance. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Peps. He’s been dead for over half my life. It’s not like I could win his approval posthumously.”

Steve kisses his temple, tightening his arm around his shoulders. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers. Tony shivers. “I still don’t like the article, but I’m proud of how you’re handling it.”

Tony’s mouth is dry and his throat constricted, but Pepper is wrapping up the conversation for him so he can enjoy the warmth radiating from Steve next to him and the sense of elation spreading in his chest. 

*

Bruce nearly spits out his tea all over his StarkPad when he reads Sunday’s headline in the NYT. 

“J.J.,” he coughs, “does Tony know about this?”

The AI’s reply is instant. “He does, Dr. Banner. The author informed Ms. Potts last night, who told sir.”

“And he didn’t set his lawyers on them?” Bruce wonders, more to himself than to J.J. 

“Nah, ain’t worth the hassle,” Tony declares, having apparently overheard the conversation and making a beeline for the coffee pot Bruce brewed for exactly this purpose. 

“So you’re okay with them hosting an audio recording on their website?”

“Can I at least drink one cup before the Spanish Inquisition? Pretty please?”

Bruce motions for Tony to suit himself, then re-reads the article and checks the comments. Most are positive with only a handful of Howard-fans piping up in the man’s defense. As far as he knows from observations and the rare actual tale between experiments, Tony’s father was only marginally better than Bruce’s own. 

When he glances up Tony has already started on breakfast. 

“Why didn’t you say anything at meditation?” 

His friend shrugs, but in that tense way that means the actually answer would fill pages. 

“Why did you let her publish?”

Tony draws a deep breath and turns around, resting his hip against the counter, his hands twisting a piece of kitchen roll. “Pepper wanted me to; said it’ll be good publicity.”

“And?”

Tony levels a glare at him that clearly states how much he hates the fact that Bruce has learnt to read him this well. 

“And maybe it’s time I stop protecting Howard’s reputation. Maybe I’m tired of lying about what a great father he was. Do I like that she recorded me without my knowledge? Hell no. But she’s a journalist and at least she had the decency to tell us, even though only nine hours before it’d hit the newsstands.”

For a second, Bruce is rendered speechless at how mature Tony sounds. Howard has always been the sorest of topics for him, so witnessing him move forward is great.

Outwardly, Bruce simply nods and gets up from the table, helping Tony with breakfast. He still has to get a more genuine explanation out of him about his sudden obsession with learning how to cook, but if Bruce learnt one thing during his time sharing labs with the man, then it’s that you can’t rush Tony. It will only spite him or cause him to retreat. 

Bruce cannot help his curiosity in this regard, though, which is why he probes, “So… have you and Steve talked about Howard yet?”

Tony’s hand stills where it was about to break another egg into the beaker. “Last night.”

An answer – that’s a good sign. “How did it go?”

Another shrug, another egg breaking. “Fine, I guess. It’s just…” Tony steps away from the counter with a huff. “It’s like we knew two completely different people. The only things his Howard and my Howard have in common are the name and the inventive drive.”

“You sound a bit jealous.”

“Well, maybe I am,” Tony bites back. “According to Steve the guy was nice and open; still easily distracted but… happy. Neither of us got all the pieces, so we can’t say what went wrong.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be explained.”

A smirk plays about Tony’s lips. “Not that kind of doctor, my ass.”

Bruce chuckles. “I guess you caught me at a bad time back then.”

“Well, you _had_ just returned from a country without internet coverage or hot water – or electricity, for that matter – so we’ll put it down with culture shock.”

“And don’t forget, you did tell me the whole story. Eventually.”

“Yeah, and you immediately called Pepper for blood samples. Way to make a guy feel cherished.”

Bruce flicks a bit of flour at him and Tony gasps at him. 

“Really, Banner? That’s how you wanna do it?” 

“Sometimes I like stooping to your level.” 

Tony, thankfully, recognizes the sarcasm in Bruce’s voice and doesn’t start a food fight. 

*

The mystery of Tony’s newfound culinary interest isn’t resolved until three days later. It’s Bucky’s birthday so Steve decided to cut training short that afternoon to give them all time to prepare a party. Bucky insisted he didn’t need to celebrate yet Bruce has come to know the soldier quite well, so he sees how secretly the man is looking forward to the gathering. 

However, no one is really surprised by the level of glee Bucky radiates when they hand over their presents after dinner – Bruce can hazard a guess as to how long it’s been since the man received anything substantial for his birthday.

Once every parcel has been unwrapped everyone in their group has a smile on their face; only Tony’s feels a little forced, if Bruce is honest with himself. He keeps an eye on his friend, yet the only thing out of the ordinary he notices is that Tony has yet to get the whisky out of the cupboard. 

Rhodey seems to notice that, too, since he asks, “Want me to grab you a beer, Tony?” 

Given that the answer is pretty much a foregone conclusion Bruce returns his attention to where Nat and Bucky are talking about knife maintenance. 

It’s all the more startling when Tony replies with a “Nah, but thanks.”

Rhodey squints at his best friend and Bruce can’t fault him, but then Clint asks for another and Rhodey walks over to the fridge while Steve is taking Tony’s hand in his in the space between their bodies on the loveseat. 

Bruce is not the only one who’s intrigued, though. 

“What’s with the new-found sobriety, Stark?” Nat asks, taking a jug from her beer bottle. 

“Exactly that,” Tony replies, probably aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. 

Something suddenly clicks in Bruce’s mind. “You quit.”

Tony meets his gaze across the sofa table and gives a minute nod. 

Rhodey freezes in the middle of handing Clint his second beer. “Oh shit, Tones, I’m sorry.” 

But the engineer just waves him off. “Go ahead. I’ve got to learn how to deal, don’t I?”

“Don’t mean we gotta make it particularly hard on you, man,” Clint says, not moving to uncap his bottle. “Really, I don’t need another.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind switching to ice tea,” Rhodey agrees and Sam echoes his sentiment. 

“I’m touched, guys, really,” Tony insists, “but I’m fine right now, I promise. I’ve managed for one and a half weeks and it’s getting easier to watch y’all drink.”

Something falls into place then for Bruce. “That’s why you’ve been helping with breakfast? Or wanted to meditate?” He receives a nod in return. “Have you experienced any headaches? Tremors? Nausea?” Bruce feels compelled to add. He is, after all, Tony’s primary physician. 

Tony shrugs. “A bit of the former two; no to the latter. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“But you’ll tell me if it gets worse, right?” 

“Yes, Bruce, I promise. I got the same order from J., so don’t you worry.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, Tones? We could’ve been more considerate.”

Tony bites his lip. “Wasn’t sure I’d hold out this long. Didn’t even tell Steve until I practically drove him crazy.”

“Well, I’m proud of you,” Rhodey stresses, his arm already half-way up in order to raise his beer in cheers when his face freezes. “Yeah, drinking to your decision isn’t really a good idea, is it?”

To their collective relief, Tony simply laughs, snatching Steve’s glass of water from the table and raising it while Steve chuckles. “Good that I’m not known for my good ideas, right?”

“One thing, though,” Steve says after they have all clinked glasses. “If Tony is having a bad day we’ll keep our evening gatherings free of alcohol.”

“If he actually says something, sure,” Nat agrees, and one by one the members of the team echo her sentiment. 

Bruce is doubtful that his friend will ever make use of this caveat, and is all the prouder of Tony when the engineer actually asks them to keep the beer locked away later that week on Saturday night. 

Bruce wishes the equilibrium and sense of family permeating the facility that weekend would last… but of course life has other plans for them. 

*

Clint returns later than usual from spending the day with his kids that second Sunday in March, mostly because he wasn’t able to say no to Lila and then had to deal with her and Cooper’s sugar rush that had them jumping around for hours before they finally crashed. 

“Sorry I’m so late!” he says as he rushes into the communal living room for movie night. “What’re we watching?”

That’s when he takes in everyone’s expression and the tension in the air hits him. 

“What’s going on?” 

“We agreed not to talk about it,” Steve gripes, and _oh yeah_ , it’s the weekend before both Cap and Stark are due to appear in Washington. 

“Yes, because talking about it doesn’t get us anywhere,” the engineer contributes helpfully from where he is tucked against one armrest of the loveseat, Steve a few inches away from him. The way they aren’t touching is blatantly obvious and almost hurts to look at. 

Clint should’ve stayed with his kids, really. He doesn’t need to witness mommy and daddy fighting. 

He swallows down that particular comment, though. “I still don’t know what movie Bruce picked. Please not something European again, man.”

“No, it’s a comedy,” the doctor reassures him. “It’s called Thank You For Smoking. We were just waiting for you.”

“Let me grab a beer and I’ll be right there.”

He takes up his usual spot next to Pietro, Wanda and Bruce on the large sofa and lets the film wash over him. It’s funny, but it’s up against a group of sullen superheroes, so it takes a while ‘til everyone relaxes enough to enjoy it. 

They all scatter immediately after to escape any further arguments. Clint’s seen Steve and Tony fight enough times to last several lifetimes and he wasn’t even there the first time they faced off back on the Hellcarrier.

Breakfast the following morning isn’t much better. At least their leaders are talking to each other, yet there’s still a decided chill to their conversations. 

He’s so happy to get to the range after team meeting that he almost loses track of time entirely and forgets about his standing lunch break date with Wanda, who is the only one who frequents the SHIELD cafeteria apart from him. The others tend to choose the one of the Avengers Initiative because it’s bigger and closer to their quarters, but Clint likes the way ‘his’ cafeteria reminds him of the one at the Triskelion that kept him nourished during his initial training. 

“You ready to go?” he asks Wanda, feeling his brow furrow as he notices the slight downward turn of her lips. 

She just shrugs. “I do not feel like going to the cafeteria today.”

“Uh,” Clint says because his eloquence is unparalleled. “Want me to bring you something back? We could eat here? Or I can just bring you something and leave you alone?”

Wanda eventually agrees to let him bring her a sandwich. When he swipes his Avengers ID that also doubles as a credit card for the services on site, the young man at the checkout frowns. 

“Is Wanda okay? I mean – she’s usually with you.” A glance at his nametag reveals him to be Chad. 

“Nah, isn’t feeling well. The tuna sub’s for her.”

“Oh… Tell her I hope she feels better soon,” Chad says, his tone genuine and his smile sincere. 

“Will do. Bye!”

Wanda is where he left her, at a table in one of the smaller sitting areas near the training rooms, absentmindedly twirling little clouds of red mist around her finger in the air in front of her. She doesn’t seem like she wants to talk, but she doesn’t tell him to leave either, so Clint stays, waiting until they’re both done to mention the cashier. 

“Well, Chad said to tell you he hopes you get better soon. He’s manning one of the check-outs at the cafeteria.”

He expected Wanda to blush, or maybe just play it cool; yet instead she tenses, her jaw clenching. She covers it up well, but Clint’s been around the block often enough to be concerned. 

“That is nice of him,” Wanda says, a little feebly. 

“You don’t like the guy?” She avoids his eye. “He done something?”

Wanda shakes her head, and one curl gets untucked from behind her ear. She tucks it back with a jerky movement of her hand. 

“Well, he must’ve done something or you wouldn’t be acting this cagey.”

It takes another couple of seconds until she explains. “It’s his thoughts.” 

“I thought you weren’t listening in on people anymore?”

She squares her shoulders, sitting up straighter. “I don’t. His are too loud.”

“Okay, so what’s he thinking that’s weirding you out?”

“He…” She pauses, breathing in slowly. “He thinks about me.”

Clint is about to ask what’s wrong with a crush, but he stops himself in time when he really takes in Wanda’s body language, the way she has crossed her legs and is hunching in on herself… 

“You don’t like his thoughts.” Another shake of the head. “How long’s this been going on?”

“Not too long. He only started this month. I never even talked to him other than say hello when I ended up at his checkout, but he is picturing… It’s unpleasant.”

“We can go to another cafeteria, Wanda.”

“I’m not a coward,” she snarls, causing Clint to raise his hands immediately. 

“Didn’t say you were. But if that guy makes you uncomfortable, we can avoid him, is all I’m saying.”

“He would come after me.”

She sounds so convinced that Clint is starting to really doubt his judgment. Sure, the guy is interested, but he’s barely out of college and he didn’t radiate that stalker vibe. 

“You didn’t see,” Wanda says. Apparently Clint was thinking loud enough for her to hear. “His fantasies, they were… extreme.”

“You mean, like, uh, fetish stuff?”

“Maybe.”

“You know, as long as both parties agree, there’s nothing wrong with stuff like that. And since he survived SHIELD’s vetting process, I’m pretty sure he gets that no means no.”

The crease between Wanda’s eyebrows is deepening and Clint is beginning to think he’s missing something. He isn’t sure whether prying would be welcome, though. Besides, he hopes that Wanda knows she can come to him with anything, seriously. 

Judging by the way her eyes snap up she heard that, too. Clint waits for a seemingly endless minute for her to decide whether to change the topic or say something. 

When she finally speaks, she still isn’t looking at him. “It isn’t just the nature of his thoughts. It’s…. I…”

“It’s okay, whatever it is,” he assures her and that is what gets her to meet his eyes again. 

Clint almost twitches when he is confronted with glowing red irises and an incredibly vulnerable expression. 

“What if I do not like sex in general?” 

Okay, he didn’t see that coming. “I hear you’re not alone in there. You might be asexual, and that’s fine.”

“No, it’s…” 

She swallows thickly and shit, Clint thinks her eyes are turning wet. What’s going on? 

“It’s that I have had all the sex I want for the rest of my life.”

Clint feels his mouth falling open, unsure what to make of that statement. “Oh?”

Because he’s talked with Natasha and she never mentioned Wanda befriending anyone outside the Avengers at the facility, let alone flirt with a guy or gal, that means whatever experience she had must have happened prior to Ultron, yet even then she spent all the time with Hydra ever since she was 14… 

A tear escapes Wanda’s eyes the exact moment Clint puts the pieces together. 

“You mean Hydra…?”

“Just one guard. He… he called it a trade. I didn’t want to, and I said no, but…” Wanda inhales shakily. “I was able to handle hunger well. We lived in the streets for years, Pietro and I, and there wasn’t always enough. With Hydra, we had to stay in a cell during the first phase of experiments. The guard who was in charge of meals, his mind was… ugly. I held out as long as I could, but after six days I just wanted the hunger cramps to end.”

Clint rushes to her side in time for her tears to really well up and holds her close until the worst of the sobbing passes, stroking her hair after watching her for any sign that it might be an unwelcome gesture. 

“One word, Wanda, and we can find that bastard and serve him to you on a silver platter.”

That gets a smile from her that’s more of a grimace but at least it’s something. “He’s dead. Strucker learnt of our trade. He shot him in front of me as an apology. Said that it is not what Hydra does.”

“Surprisingly humane of the guy.”

“He granted us more freedom, then. Our powers were stabilizing, so he could without problem.”

Clint has to concentrate on keeping his fist unclenched and his anger at bay. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, kiddo.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Not yours, either. He was a sick, power-hungry thug who boxed you into a corner.”

“But I said yes,” Wanda whispers, and Clint is grappling to find the right words and make her understand but everything just sounds like a fucking platitude. 

“You were coerced, which is not the same as consent. The opposite, actually. But I’m not… I mean,” he starts again, meeting her quizzical gaze. “Nat might be able to help you better than I. She’s, uh, done some undercover work for the KGB that really blurred the line for her, too. And some SHIELD ops Fury isn’t particularly proud of… So she probably knows what you’re thinking.”

Wanda doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about this, and hell, Clint can’t blame her. For all he knows he’s the first person she ever told, even outside of her brother, and that’s just… yeah. 

“Just consider it, alright?”

She nods after a few seconds and Clint pulls her into a real hug, which she returns with a vice-like grip. 

Wanda excuses herself to ‘freshen up’ so Clint brings the tray back to the cafeteria. As if fate had intended it that way, Chad is still at the register, alone for the moment. 

“Hey!” he greets Clint with a big smile. “How is she?”

“She,” Clint replies, infusing his voice with enough venom and authority to scare off level six agents, “isn’t interested. What’s more, your explicit thoughts are making her uncomfortable. I’d suggest you transfer to another cafeteria before she snaps and makes you believe you’re a goldfish, capisce?”

Chad blanches and begins to stammer but Clint silences him with one raised hand. 

“Nah, save it. If you’re still here by tomorrow, I’ll set Tony on you and you can kiss your credit rating goodbye. If that doesn’t help, I might just have to get my bow.”

“No, no need, really! I’m sorry, I never meant to… I’ll, uh, I’ll transfer, man, I swear!”

Apparently the guy, while being a bit sexually adventurous in the bedroom, is a big whuz in real life. Clint strides off and he’d feel smug if he weren’t still preoccupied with Wanda’s revelation. 

He just hopes she takes him up on his offer and talks to Nat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t even know. I was absolutely blindsided… I wanted to have a Clint & Wanda bonding moment and this is what happened. *hugs-Wanda*
> 
> Next up: progress on the Clint/Pietro front! Chapter 13 will be up on Monday, 19th October, so I’m back on my regular posting schedule after this unplanned mix up.


	13. One mole too many

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter during the days surrounding the Supreme Court decision to legalize same-sex marriage, which is why there are a few allusions to the decision in here :) #LoveWins in this AU as well!
> 
> Warning for red herring ahead for those who are familiar with the Civil War comics – I couldn’t resist!
> 
> And today’s update is Pietro/Clint centric! This chapter also features one of my favourite tropes ever, namely “undercover as a couple”. *giggles* Have fun, y’all!

Steve’s phone rings the moment he leaves the Senate hearing, Hill’s caller ID flashing across the screen. 

“What the hell was that?” she asks without preamble. 

“My testimony regarding the Superhuman Registration Act.”

“You were told to speak for all Avengers, Rogers!”

“Which proved to be impossible since we don’t agree.”

“You were supposed to support SHIELD on this. The Director isn’t happy with this turn of events.”

Steve has to consciously refrain from punching the wall on his way out of the building. Surrounding the foot of the large staircase are a number of protesters bearing signs and shouting slogans, some with visible mutations, others with ally shirts, but all in favor of how Steve just testified. Namely _against_ the SHRA, thus acting in defiance of SHIELD. 

“The Director can shove it where the sun don’t shine,” Steve growls, eyes sliding over the gathered protestors. The movement shifts his shield on his back a fraction, reminding him that he is still in uniform. 

“We’ll have words when you get back,” Hill snarls and the dial tone rings out immediately thereafter. 

With a sigh Steve pockets his phone. The tension of the past days is starting to take its toll on him. While Tony and he may be doing their best to ignore the giant elephant in the room, they’re both having a hard time of putting their differences of opinion behind them. There is no reprieve in sight either – the internet will go crazy when they learn that Captain America opposed SHIELD and Tony Stark by speaking out against the SHRA. Steve already dreads the next press conference, because every reporter is going to be all over –

_BAM!_

Steve’s reflexes kick in, and before he knows what’s happening he has pulled two teenaged protesters to the ground, warding their bodies with his own. He glances up and finds the rest of the activists trapped in a red cage that looks eerily familiar to the protective devices Tony and Wanda have been developing. 

“Look for cover!” he tells the boy and girl before retrieving his shield and deflecting a hail of bullets following the sound of heavy-booted footsteps.

There, at the other side of the square, is Crossbones, wearing the same ugly mask as the last time Steve saw him. He ceases firing when his semi-automatic runs out of bullets, discarding it carelessly. 

“You aren’t going to survive this time, Rogers,” Rumlow sneers, his voice still distinct despite being muffled by the mask. 

Steve uses the opportunity and attacks, throwing his shield which catapults Crossbones a few feet backwards and gives Steve the second needed to bark at his watch and by extension J.J. to get Iron Man here, stat. 

“Sir is currently engaged in a fight with the Hydra operative known as Viper, Captain.”

“Guess I gotta take this guys down on my own,” Steve grumbles, deflecting a jab aimed at his head and executing a punch of his own. 

They trade blows in rapid succession, with kicks and jumps and flips in between, moving up the stairs as they do until one high kick catches Steve off guard and he careens down the stairs again with barely enough time to get the shield under him to use as a slide. 

He stumbles to his feet as quickly as possible and is about to reengage Crossbones when a series of cries emanates from the crowd trapped within the cage and Steve’s head whips around, coming face to face with a… a beast. 

It resembles a human if said human were twelve feet high, dark skin stretched over bulging muscles and a simple mask hiding half his face. The giant smashes one of the devices projecting the cage over the crowd, disabling one side of its bars and effectively freeing the people to flee to safety. 

Of course several of the Mutant protesters stay, stepping up next to Steve with curt nods. There is a young man with large white wings who carries himself like a fighter and is poised for attack, as well as a darkish-green-skinned woman whose arms are growing spikes that she shoots at Crossbones, who evades them all. Another young man conjures up a blizzard, firing ice shards at their opponent before Steve reenters the fight for a long sequence of blows that shatter Crossbones’ mask and split his lip. 

The giant has all but disappeared, yet at four against one Rumlow is outnumbered and quickly circled in. 

“Stand down, Rumlow,” Steve orders. “You’ve lost.”

“You sure?” the other man scoffs, then throws five separate devices at once. 

Steve manages to deflect his but the winged Mutant and the Iceman aren’t so lucky. When the gadget activates it envelopes them in another red bubble and this time it looks exactly like the things Tony gave Clint’s children for protection. 

_There’s a mole at the facility,_ Steve realizes as he throws his shield yet again, then crouches down to see if he can disable the bubble before his weapon returns. 

As soon as he is upright, Rumlow is on him again, toppling them over and onto the grass. A fist connects painfully with Steve’s cheek bone and he manages to throw Rumlow off, but as he gets up the Hydra agent kicks his feet our from under him and Steve crashes to the ground once more. 

He catches himself but then there’s a boot in his face. He rolls with the force of the blow, away from Crossbones and onto his feet. A shot rings out and for a split seconds Steve thinks, _This is it –_

\- but the bullet never hits its target because vines have shot out from the grass underneath his feet and have pulled him down to his knees. Next to him he sees the eyes of the female Mutant glow green. 

Rumlow screams in frustration, yet instead of resuming his assault he detonates something right at his feet, and seconds later thick black smoke is encasing him, shielding him from view. 

When Steve throws his shield into the center of the cloud, it connects with nothing but air. 

“J.?”

“Detecting no life form within the cloud, Captain. I briefly registered two, however.”

“Teleporter,” the woman declares immediately. “He might be halfway across the globe already.”

Steve grumbles, tightening his hold on the shield. “He’s getting on my nerves.”

“Guess Hydra can do that? I’m Sarah, by the way, but call me Vine.”

Steve smiles, accepting her hand. His skin is an earthy green, her hair thick and brown just like her fingernails. He can’t help the awed “Wow,” that escapes him, but from the looks of it, Vine is flattered. 

By the time they have freed the others, who introduce themselves as Warren and Bobby, Steve hears the familiar sound of Iron Man’s repulsors. 

“A teleporter!” is the first thing Tony says. “How the fuck are we supposed to deal with a teleporter! What’s one doing with Hydra anyway? And – oh damn, are those wings?”

“Yes, and you will never be allowed to touch them,” Warren barks, scowling at Steve’s boyfriend who holds up his armored arms defensively. 

“Woah, buddy! What’ve I ever done to you?”

“Testified in favor of the SHRA,” is Warren’s clipped reply and he flaps his wings for emphasis. Steve can’t help but look at them – they are white and large, and seem as if they would feel incredibly soft to the touch. 

“Now, if you’d excuse us,” Bobby says, “we’d like to check on our friends.”

Before Tony can say anything, Steve speaks up, because no matter where they need to be, SHIELD is going to require a statement and the group seems a lot more amenable to Steve than Iron Man. 

They provide him with their contact details (all of them apparently are students at Xavier’s Institute with a special permission to attend the protests in DC this week) and Vine hangs back for another moment, lowering her voice as she reveals, “The big guy who helped us goes by Black Goliath. I’m sure SHIELD already has a file on him.”

By now the local chapter of SHIELD has arrived and is gathering the evidence of today’s attack while the first wave of reporters and onlookers are agglomerating at the barrier closing off the square. 

Steve joins Tony who has stepped out of the suit and is inspecting one of the devices used to generate the cage. 

“We have a mole.”

“No kidding, Cap. Seriously, how the hell did they replicate these? These aren’t even only reverse-engineered but also altered! Fuck, I hate Hydra! What were they aiming for anyway? They shoulda known that two bad guys won’t cut it…” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. “It was an assassination attempt.”

Tony’s head jerks around so fast Steve worries about whiplash. “What?!”

“Rumlow came here to kill me. He only failed because of the civilian reinforcements.”

Tony is incredibly pale as he swallows. “Guess a thanks would’ve been in order?”

“I got their contact details; you can still send them a fruit basket,” Steve replies, hoping it will lighten the mood. He does get a twitch of the lips in return, but it’s feeble. 

Well. This isn’t the first near miss he had, and it probably won’t be the last.

*  
_03/17/2016_  
_HYDRA FAILS ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON CAPTAIN AMERICA – ROGERS OPPOSES S.H.I.E.L.D._

_The Hydra agent known as Crossbones staged an attempt on Captain America’s life yesterday as the Avenger left the Senate, but that was not even the most shocking occurrence yesterday: Steve Rogers, who had been called upon to testify in front of the SHRS committee, spoke out against the bill. Only one day prior his teammate Tony Stark had testified in favor of the SHRA as well as in favor of the Accountability Act in the House of Representatives. An official reaction from S.H.I.E.L.D. is still pending._  
_[…]_

*

_03/17/2016_  
_MUTANTS SAVE CAPTAIN AMERICA’S LIFE_  
_by Frank Jovovich, Hero Watch Magazine_

_All week a crowd of protesters has been gathering in front of the Senate to voice their discontent with the SHRA. Most of those present were Mutants, some with more visible Mutations than others._  
_It turned out to be a good thing since some of them were able to help Captain America when the Hydra thug Crossbones attacked him as he was leaving the Senate._  
_SHIELD has remained tightlipped about the Mutants’ identities, citing their status as minors. They have, however, confirmed that the big black giant who freed most of the protesters from a contraption that generated a large cage was a friendly and known to the agency prior to yesterday’s incident. SHIELD’s press release identified the friendly as Black Goliath, a mutated human and friend of Professor Charles Xavier._  
_[…]_

*

Tony finds the mole after twenty-nine hours of investigating everyone whom he has ever shown/told about/given one of the prototypes. He has J.J. inform Steve who calls for the team to assemble along with Colonel Danvers as well as Hill, whose default reaction to Cap is a glare as cold as Iceman’s powers (which are really cool; once the SHRA passes Tony is definitely going to pull a few strings to be allowed to test that guy’s abilities… for science!). 

“Amanita Clayton,” Tony announces as the woman’s file appears on screen. She is pretty in an androgynous sort of way with an undercut and bright blue hair that falls into her eyes and clashes incredibly with her dark skin. You don’t even notice that she wasn’t always a lady. “Thirty-three year old daughter of Oscar Clayton, owner of Clayton Security, one of the largest private security firms in the country. Clayton, the father I mean, requested three of our prototypes – we really do need a name for them at some point – for a high-profile client, which he got ‘cos he’s a long term business partner and the client really was at risk. Now by the looks of it, Amanita Clayton swiped one of those and exchanged it with a replica while handing the original over to Hydra.”

“Is she affiliated with them?” Steve asks, prompting Tony to pull up the next slide. It shows Daniela Middleton, blonde and curvy with colorful extensions in her hair. 

“Uh, inconclusive? That’s her wife, by the way, who’s clean. Hasn’t even gotten a parking ticket. Then again, she lives in Florida, she probably surfs everywhere.” 

“Stark.”

“Jeez, Hill, okay… From what J.J. could find, Hydra learnt of the prototypes ‘cos Clayton’s high profile client couldn’t keep her trap shut, and got Amanita to get one for them. No idea if she was coerced or is secretly a sympathizer.”

“We need to make sure how she’s involved,” Hill speaks up. “Our suspect got a job?”

Tony grins. “Yup, owns Fort Lauderdale’s most successful gay club and lives in the same complex with her wife, who also DJ-s there; so if we’re gonna find anything it’ll be in that building.”

“SHIELD agents can be on the scene within the hour,” Hill offers only to have Steve object. 

“We can’t let Hydra know we’re onto them; if Clayton is being coerced then we’re only putting her in danger.”

Maria leans back and Tony sees her arms twitch; she probably wants to cross them but thought better of it. “Then what do you suppose we do?”

“Stage an undercover operation.”

“You mean enter the club and find a way into her apartment?” Natasha clarifies. “Might be tricky – her father owns a security firm, after all.”

“Come on, Nat, that’ll be child’s play!” Clint argues. “Even if they got a biometric system their prints are gonna be all over the staff rooms down at the club. They won’t even realize we’re there.”

Steve nods. “It might work. I’d prefer our suspects not catching on to our suspicions.”

“But if the operation fails –”

“Yes, agent Hill, then we’ll do it your way.” Steve’s tone is clipped and Tony would have flinched if that were directed at him. Thankfully, Steve’s anger with SHIELD over the posturing regarding Steve’s hearing serves as a great distraction from their own differences. Bonding over their shared aversion towards Hill is gonna be fun. 

“Agent Barton,” Steve continues. “You up for the task?”

“Me?”

“My identity has been compromised,” Nat explains before Steve can. “You’re the only one of us with the training who won’t be recognized on sight.”

Clint just grins. “Awesome! It’s been ages since I’ve been undercover.”

“I don’t like you going into this alone.”

“Cap, I’ll be fine –”

“I don’t doubt your abilities, but I won’t risk your safety this carelessly.”

“I could go?” Everyone turns towards Pietro who is actually raising his hand. “I have never been photographed clearly. People will not recognize me. And if something happens I can get us out of there quickly.”

Tony doesn’t miss the exchange of looks between Bruce, Natasha, and Wanda, though he has no idea what all that’s about or why they’re trying to fight off matching grins. 

“Good. We’ll start planning immediately. I think Friday and Saturday are still the days most people go out?” Steve asks. “We can set everything up for tomorrow night, then. Everyone but Clint, Pietro and Tony may disassemble.”

*

Clint isn’t nervous. No, seriously. He isn’t. He’s gone undercover countless of times and he’s great at improvising and getting out of tricky situations. Tonight ain’t gonna be a problem. 

Tonight. Where he’ll got to a gay club with Pietro as back-up. Right… 

“Are you sure about this outfit?” Nat raises an eyebrow at the dark jeans and purple sleeveless shirt. 

“What’s wrong with that outfit?” 

“It’s Hawkeye’s signature color, Clint.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “What would you suggest?”

Minutes later, Clint has exchanged the dark pants for a lighter (and tighter) pair and is wearing a black and equally tight tee whose sleeves end mid-biceps. 

“You’ll have to fight them off with a stick,” Nat teases, to which Clint can only laugh. 

“I’m nearing forty – I’ll be invisible to them.”

“I wouldn’t count on that…” 

Clint sighs, running a hand through his hair, which is sticking up messily (after Natasha spent five minutes styling it because she’s always been better at that than he) and considers his reflection in the mirror outside of his wardrobe. Yeah, not too bad. If he does a couple of push-ups before going up to the doorman he should get in without a problem. 

They set up base at a decent hotel near the club, even drove down instead of flying to avoid Hydra’s certainly watchful eyes. Wanda is helping Pietro get ready in the other room and Cap and Natasha are going to monitor them once they’re in the field. So to speak. 

Nat and Clint are the first to enter, and Clint is a tad disappointed when he doesn’t get an once-over from Steve. 

“Come on, man, I look hot!”

Steve smiles. “Not as hot as Tony.”

“Ouch,” Nat snorts, patting him on the back, but Clint doesn’t have time for a comeback since the sound of the door opening makes him turn around. 

Which was a mistake. 

Pietro is wearing an indecently tight, deep red shirt with three-quarter sleeves, muscles prominent even through the fabric. The grey pants ride low on his hips and show off his muscular thighs. His hair is tousled and Clint has the sudden urge to touch. 

“I hope this is okay?” Wanda asks and thankfully Natasha replies in assent, saving Clint from actually having to speak, which would’ve been a bit difficult given how dry his throat is. 

“Good. Let’s go through the plan one last time,” Steve announces and Clint has to forcibly tear his gaze away from Pietro’s body. 

Their mission is as straightforward as it is simple: Clint will enter the club first and scout the place until Pietro joins him, pretending not to know him. Together they will sneak into the restricted staff area and search it for Amanita’s keycard, which they will replicate using the awesome device Stark whipped them up yesterday. Then they’ll go upstairs and search the couple’s place for anything explaining Amanita’s status. 

It’s after midnight when the wall of a man at the door takes in Clint’s designer wear and waves him into the club, assuming Clint’s sugar daddy material for the barely legal crowd shifting on the dance floor and clogging to the bars. 

This isn’t the first gay club Clint has ever been to, but the last instance – another undercover op – lies a few years back. Many legal aspects have changed, including the Supreme Court ruling in favor of same-sex marriage, but the feeling of the bass in his veins and the thick air of lust and joy hasn’t. 

Clint gets himself a beer from a guy in a feathery outfit at one of the bars, then cases the three floors of the establishment. Most of the staff rooms seem to be on the ground floor, right next to the door leading to the backroom. 

By the time he’s done Pietro has arrived. Clint spots him across the room at the bar with a few interested parties already engaging him in conversation and offering to buy him drinks by the looks of it. Pietro is doing well, considering he has never been explicitly trained for undercover work apart from the crash course Natasha and Clint gave him yesterday. He accepts four shots before he extricates himself and heads to the men’s room (or rather the unisex bathrooms since the club caters to all genders). 

Clint positions himself at the entrance and steps into Pietro’s path with a smile. 

“Are you going back to your admirers or can I interest you in having a drink with me?” Clint purrs, allowing his gaze to rake over Pietro’s torso. The heat in his eyes is decidedly not fake, but hopefully the kid won’t notice that. 

Pietro considers him. “You get one chance. If you bore me, I leave.” He is laying on the accent pretty thickly which should not be as hot as apparently Clint’s libido thinks it to be. 

He hurriedly walks them over to the bar, a propriety hand on Pietro’s lower back, and they put on a show of heavy flirting for the bartender. 

Eventually Pietro throws back the rest of his – outrageously expensive and awfully bright – drink that Clint paid for (even though it’s technically SHIELD’s money) and grabs his wrist. 

“I want to dance!” he declares and Clint knew this was coming but no matter how long he had to prepare himself, the reality of seeing Pietro move to the beat of the nameless electro-pop stuff the DJ is playing hits him harder than he thought it would. 

Just as the Enhanced proved during the Launch Fair after party, he has an amazing sense of rhythm and is perfectly able to apply that to the non-standard form of dancing. Clint keeps his movements basic – he imagined his cover as a guy who gets most partners by impressing them with money than personality or dance skills – but Pietro doesn’t seem to mind. 

Clint has incredible self-control. He really does, and only years of conditioning and training allow him to keep his body’s natural response to the situation in check, because seriously, a kid half his age should not look this enticing to him. He’s an authority figure, _damn it_ , and could technically be Pietro’s father. In retrospect the mission was a stupid idea. 

Oh, right. The mission. 

Pietro has his back to him so Clint closes the distance – careful to keep his pelvic region out of this entirely. Once they are chest to back he whispers, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Pietro shudders in response, nodding and allowing Clint to pull him in the direction of the backroom. Seriously, the kid’s a natural at this. 

Once they’re in the hallway Clint ‘accidentally’ opens the wrong door, which leads them down a corridor and to the staff’s changing room and lounge that feature a row of lockers. 

As soon as the door clicks shut, Clint breathes a sigh of relief. “Well done, kiddo.”

Pietro seems a little dazed but he nods, so Clint proceeds to look for what they came for. He finds Amanita’s locker and pulls her fingerprint off her powder compact, yet her keycard is nowhere to be found. 

“Here.” 

Clint glances over to where Pietro has come to a halt after – by the looks of it – going through all other lockers at great speed. He is holding up a high-tech keycard, apparently that of Amanita’s wife. So Clint hands Pietro Stark’s creation to copy the thing while Clint pulls a second fingerprint. 

Then Clint’s ears pick up on footsteps down the corridor. “Fuck.”

A blink of an eye later everything is as they found it but that still doesn’t solve the problem of them being where they’re not supposed to be. Clint’s mind is in overdrive, trying to find the best possible way out of this. 

“Please just go along with this,” he pleads and the last thing Clint sees are grey eyes narrowing in confusion before he shoves Pietro up against the wall next to the changing room door and kisses him like he means it. 

Pietro is unresponsive for one panic-inducing heartbeat before he practically melts into the kiss, his hands wrapping themselves around Clint’s middle and pulling him closer as Clint’s hand are cupping the young man’s jaw. 

It feels like heaven, filled with heat and lust and Clint has another moment to marvel at how well Pietro is adjusting to undercover work, but then the door to the changing room opens and an angry comment startles them out of their make-out session. 

“This ain’t the backroom, guys,” a woman in a bland tee sporting the club’s logo chides them. It’s neither Amanita nor her wife, thank fuck, because Clint doubts he could have handled that right now. “Try the other door.”

“’course! Sorry,” Clint offers with a grin and pulls his panting partner in crime out of the room, through the corridor and into the backroom where Pietro gasps at the sight. 

Yeah, Clint might have warned him about this, but witnessing such blatant public nudity up close is another thing entirely. 

“Good save,” Steve’s voice echoes in Clint’s earpiece. 

“Thank you, Cap.”

Clint eventually finds what he’s looking for around a corner. “Bingo,” he whispers, pointing towards the vent. “This’ll lead us right to the private staircase.”

All he gets from the other man is a curt nod. By the looks of it Pietro is trying really hard not to stare at the other couples going at it in the ultra red lighting.

They climb through the ventilation shafts until they are able to exit them near the stairs leading up to Clayton’s apartment. The falsified keycard and Amanita’s fingerprint gets them through the door without problem. All that’s left to do is hook up Jarvis Junior to Amanita’s computer and the AI will take care of the rest, giving them a moment to look for anything non-digital. 

Clint unearths a burner phone in a hidden compartment of Amanita’s spacious closet and feeds the data stored on it to J.J. who works his magic and transmits all intel to Cap and Nat. 

“We got what we need,” Steve informs him. “You can make your exits.”

“Roger that,” Clint acknowledges, doing a double take when Pietro doesn’t chuckle. Usually that quip makes the guy crack up every time, but now his expression doesn’t change. Clint narrows his eyes at him. “You okay?”

“Sure.” 

He doesn’t sound it, though, so Clint takes a step closer, grateful that J.J. keeps their channel closed unless he’s got something for Steve and Nat. 

“Look, Pietro, I’m sorry I sprung that on you, but it was the only way to get outta there without raising any flags. Apologies for attacking you.”

“It’s fine. I knew the parameters.” 

“Yeah. And hey, our mission’s been a full success so far! We make a good undercover team, kiddo,” Clint stresses but Pietro’s face still remains tense. He can’t really get a read on his expression, though. Clint just hopes he didn’t screw up their friendship with his little stunt. Or showed his own hand. At least the bartender kicked them out before Clint’s dick could take too much of an interest. Now that would’ve been awkward. And sent Pietro running for the hills, that’s for sure. 

They return the way they came from and make their way out of the backroom one at a time. 

“I’m an old man, I’m gonna need a minute,” Clint explains, waving Pietro off. “You should let some folks buy you another couple of drinks before you leave, just to keep up the cover.”

All Pietro does is nod. Clint doesn’t even get a smirk. _Damn._ He really screwed this up, didn’t he?

*

In the aftermath of Valentine’s Day it didn’t take Bruce long to figure out whom Pietro had fallen in love with. Ever since catching the young man gaze longingly in Clint’s direction one evening, Bruce has been keeping an eye on the situation and waited for the moment it inevitably implodes. 

Really, he isn’t surprised when that moment occurs during the undercover mission. 

Natasha, Steve, Wanda and Pietro return late Saturday afternoon while Clint has gone straight from Florida to visit his kids. Bruce sees neither hide nor hair of Pietro for the next twenty-four hours no matter how hard he looks. 

It is only when they are all gathered in the kitchen and living room, ravaging the food they ordered from the cafeteria staff (which Steve only allows every two weeks), that Pietro shows his face and even then it’s only to snatch a few slices of pizza before whooshing off again. 

Steve follows the movement with narrowed eyes and seeks out Bruce’s, who nods without hesitation. 

He finds Pietro sitting in a corner of the smaller Avengers gym where Bruce usually meditates. He is hugging his knees, shoulders slumped dejectedly, and Bruce’s chest aches at the sight. 

“May I?” he asks once he is level with the man. Pietro shrugs, his gaze fixed on something outside the large window in front of him, so Bruce sits down, tucking his legs underneath him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he ventures after a few moments of silence, then waits patiently for the other man to make up his mind. 

Pietro swallows. “I doubt that would help me.”

“You never know.”

When he finally looks at Bruce, Pietro’s grey eyes are dull, almost as if he doesn’t have any energy left inside of him to feel anything in particular. Bruce can sense the Other Guy stirring in concern. 

“We kissed.”

Not exactly what Bruce expected to hear. “Oh?”

“During the mission. It was only for the mission.” Pietro’s voice breaks a bit at the last word, though Bruce pretends not to notice. “He is not interested in me.”

“Did he say that?”

Another shrug. “He made it clear that it was only because of our cover. I thought… It felt so…” Pietro struggles to find the right word and draws further into himself as he does. “I thought it was real.”

“Does Clint know that?”

“He has to. He can’t not know, not after that.” Pietro’s voice is rough now, and his eyes have a definite wet shine to them. 

Bruce can’t hold back any longer. Murmuring a soft, “Come here,” he pulls the kid into his arms, relieved when Pietro doesn’t resist. Quite the contrary, actually – one moment they are only hugging and the next Bruce finds himself with his back leaning against the wall and Pietro’s legs swung over his lap with the boy’s face buried in his shoulder and his arms slung around his neck. The position has Pietro nestled between the window and Bruce, providing additional shelter as Bruce strokes his back soothingly. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce murmurs, tightening his grip on the boy who finally succumbs to the tears that have been threatening to fall. 

Deep down, the Hulk roars in anger. _Hush, big guy,_ Bruce chides him. _Barton’s not even here._

_Yet._

*

Clint doesn’t get any sleep while he’s at his kids’, spends the night tossing and turning and replaying Friday night over and over again in his mind along with the debrief on Saturday. 

He originally wanted to pretend nothing happened, like Pietro and his relationship wasn’t forever changed, but instead he had done his best to avoid the man ( _the kid, the 19 year old kid, Barton, what the fuck is wrong with you_ ) and now he’s sleep-deprived and anxious about his return to the facility. 

If he’s lucky the rest of the team is already gathered in front of the TV for movie night. 

Of course that doesn’t happen, since this is Clint’s life and it’s mostly been shitty with a few specks of bright light ( _Nat, his kids, the team_ ) thrown in that make everything worth it. Clint doesn’t even make it out off the first room from the landing pad, let alone into the living room before he finds himself confronted with three very cross-looking Avengers. 

“Evening, Cap. Nat. Wanda,” Clint greets them in turn, every fiber of his being screaming at him to get back to his aircraft and get the hell out of doge. He stays put, though, because Wanda could stop him in a heartbeat. 

“Clint,” Steve says, “we need to talk to you.”

“Believe it or not, I gathered that…”

“What happened at the club?” Wanda asks, voice low and eyes dark. She’s probably one second away from sparking energy from her fingertips. 

“What do you mean, happened? We did our jobs!” 

Yeah, so maybe Clint asked Pietro not to mention their little distraction strategy in the official reports. Which was supposed to spare them from conversations like this, damn it. 

“You’re lying,” Wanda growls. 

“Are you –”

“No, I don’t need to. Pietro has been absent since we returned. He was quiet in the car all the way back. I can sense his emotions and he is devastated. Something happened and I need to know.”

“We need to know,” Steve clarifies. “I want this resolved tonight.”

“Just tell us what happened, Clint,” Natasha adds and Clint rubs the back of his neck, eyes on the ground trying to buy himself some time to think, but not even he can talk his way out of this, he’s afraid. 

“Listen, I may have done something drastic to keep our cover intact. I apologized, okay? I got no idea what Pietro’s problem is, but –”

“What exactly did you do?” Steve is wearing his I Am Captain America You Shall Answer Me scowl that brooks no backtalk. Apparently he didn’t realize they were kissing when he commented on Clint’s good save. 

Clint licks his lips and swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “We were in the staff area looking for the keycard and stuff when one of the bartenders or whatever showed up. What was I supposed to do! We’re undercover at a gay club; I mean, the most logical thing to do was kiss him. And it worked!” 

He trails off, confused by how Natasha’s shoulders have sagged, how Steve is tilting his head and by how Wanda seems even more irritated than two seconds ago. 

“What?”

“Why isn’t this in your report, Barton?”

“Damn, Cap, I don’t know… He looked so shocked, I thought we’d just forget it ever happened; no need to flog it to death, seriously – ouch! What was that for?”

Natasha has by now crossed her arms in front of her chest, no regret showing on her features as Clint rubs his shoulder where she hit him. Hard. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You probably didn’t even ask for his opinion, did you?” she goes own. “Just decided you’d ignore it, huh?”

“I didn’t wanna make him any more uncomfortable than he already was!”

“Uncomfortable?” Now Wanda is blinking at him, eyebrows climbing up towards her hairline. “Are you sure he was uncomfortable?”

“How else was he supposed to feel when his team mate suddenly pushed him against a wall and shoved his tongue in his mouth?” 

No one flinches at the explicit image and Clint crumbles a little, waving his hands for lack of anything else to do. 

“Have you ever considered,” Wanda begins, each word enunciated with care as if she has to forcefully control her voice, “that he might have no problem with that?”

“Huh?”

“After all the time he spent with you, this is what you assumed?”

“We all spend a lotta time with each other! We’re a team! And I’m, I don’t know, some sort of parental-slash-older-brother figure, I guess?”

By now Steve is massaging the bridge of his nose and Natasha is shaking her head minutely and consistently, mouth agape. Seriously, what the hell is going on? 

“That is how _I_ see you, Clint,” Wanda explains, “but Pietro looks like that at Bruce. At you, he looks another way entirely.”

“How? Can someone please tell me what all this is about? So Pietro doesn’t have a problem with some undercover kissing. So what?”

“He likes you, Barton,” Steve snaps. 

“Yeah, I better hope so, given how much time –”

“He _likes_ you,” Steve repeats, gazing imploringly at him and suddenly a switch turns in Clint’s head, dousing him in ice-cold water. 

“No…”

“Yes,” Wanda hisses. “And you made him feel like his emotions do not matter, like you do not care about him like we can all see you do.”

“Fuck,” is all he can say. This is bad. So bad…

“Indeed. Fix it, Barton. I don’t care how; just make things right with him. That’s an order.” 

Clint nods. His mind feels like it’s in a daze. He distantly registers Natasha’s hand as she squeezes his shoulder before he finds himself alone in the room leading out onto the landing pad. 

He clears his throat awkwardly. “J.J.? Where is Pietro?”

“Mr. Maximoff is currently in the smaller gym with Doctor Banner.”

“Shit. Uh, sorry. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Agent Barton.”

The AI doesn’t offer anything else. Either he doesn’t have any pointers or J.J.’s comments are reserved for Stark only. Not that it matters much, now. 

Clint inhales long and deep, then starts walking. He only hesitates briefly when he reaches the gym door before asking the AI to announce his presence. Twenty seconds pass before the door slides open, revealing Bruce. Or rather, a scowling Bruce. And is that a greenish tinge around his irises? Clint’s pulse quickens. 

“What do you want, Barton?” 

“Uh, I came to talk to Pietro? Please?” he adds, feeling like a teenager asking out his first romantic interest. Or what Clint thinks that must feel like; it’s not like he ever really dated anyone seriously like people in the movies do. 

“Listen,” Bruce says, and _yeah_ , definitely a green tinge, “you get one chance to make this right. If you ever hurt him like this again, I will not be this calm. Understood?”

Clint nods, meaning it. 

“Wait here.”

Bruce turns around but Clint doesn’t get to see what he does since the door slides shut again. Okay, J.J. does have an opinion. Good to know. It opens a minute later. 

“I won’t go far,” Bruce tells him, his tone perfectly level, before stepping past him. 

He spies Pietro standing at the end of the room, facing the window with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. He looks good in the functional wear he dons whenever he is flitting about the facility. 

Clint approaches slowly, still at a loss of how to start this conversation, and comes to a halt a few steps away from Pietro. 

“Are you going to say something soon?” the kid wonders. “Or can I get myself a drink?”

“Uh,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. “Yeah, uh. I mean…” Clint releases a shaky breath. “I am going to say something. Just don’t know where to start.”

“It’s fine. I hear you loud and clear.”

“No, it’s not fucking fine!” Clint protests, a surge of energy making him step into Pietro’s line of sight. It means turning his back to the window which is already making him itchy, but what the hell, he’s gotta do this. “I acted like a dick and I’m sorry.”

He squares his shoulders, unsure of what to expect. Or how to bring up the entire ‘he likes you’ issue. 

Pietro’s face is blank, so that’s not a particularly big help. 

“I shouldn’t have decided how to handle the whole… thing without asking what you thought. I panicked a bit. People screw up, it happens. And I’m sorry this hurt you.”

Pietro just nods tersely. “Okay.” 

“That’s it? Okay?”

“What else do you want me to say?” Pietro growls, suddenly in Clint’s space. Yeah, not helping. 

“Maybe explain why your sister and Nat and Cap seem to think you like me?”

Pietro blanches and he has taken three steps back before Clint can even blink. His jaw clenches and his hands, no longer in his pockets, are balling into fists near his hips. “What did they say?”

“I don’t know, man, that you weren’t uncomfortable when I kissed you? That you don’t see me as a big brother?”

Pietro’s brow furrows at that. “Why would I see you as a big brother?”

“I…” Clint rubs his neck again. “I figured, I mean… Come on, man, I’m twice your age; I’ve got a family and baggage so heavy even your green bodyguard out there couldn’t lift it…”

Pietro sighs, closing his eyes briefly and a bit of the tensions seems to bleed from his body. “I don’t. See you as a big brother, I mean. I never have. You were the guy who always failed to catch me but never gave up.”

“Ey, I did! That one time!” 

It’s worth it to see Pietro’s lips twitch in amusement. “I thought you figured out that I just pretended?”

“Yeah, man, but you also said you’d pretend I actually caught you. So there,” Clint finishes, turning his palms out. 

The looser mood doesn’t last long, though, and a second later it’s awkward silence time again. They’re not really getting anywhere, Clint notes. _All right. Moment of truth._

“So, uh, what do you see me as? I mean… on the whole, friends, family, lo-, uh, romance spectrum?” Clint swallows thickly, forcing himself to meet Pietro’s eyes, which are guarded again. 

The five seconds that pass prior to the kid’s reply are some of the longest in Clint’s life, including those five seconds in Budapest. His heart is beating in his throat and his pulse a frantic rhythm in his ears. 

Pietro eventually squares his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height and inhaling deeply. He looks as if he is about to go into battle. 

“Maybe I like you, like the people do in all those movies. I know now that it’s futile, but I can’t help it. I will get over it, so Cap won’t have to worry.”

Clint can only blink. Pietro actually -? 

“If that’s all?” the other man asks, turning to leave and _oh no_ , that just won’t fly, Clint’s got something to say, damn it. He grabs Pietro’s wrist and the Enhanced freezes, an obvious shiver passing through his body. 

“What if I like you too?” Clint whispers. Is that how you profess your interest in someone? This entire thing’s a lot easier when there aren’t any messy emotions in play. 

“Do you?” 

Pietro’s voice is barely audible but Clint catches it, thankfully. For the first time the hard lines of the kid’s face relax a fraction and there’s something that looks like hope blossoming in his eyes. 

Clint nods, releasing Pietro’s wrist. “I tried not to, because hell, you’re nineteen, I’m in my thirties… I’ve never really done this whole dating crap – no, not crap, I just… I’m outta my depth here, if that isn’t obvious already, and I guess I’m screwing this up right now, ain’t I?”

Suddenly Pietro moves. One second he is two steps away and the next Clint finds himself turned around and pushed against the wall on his left with Pietro intruding on his personal space, blatantly mirroring what Clint did during the mission. Pietro’s left hand is on Clint’s shoulders, the other splayed across his chest, pressing him into the wall and his body is a hair’s breadth away from touching Clint’s zipped-up hoodie. 

His pupils must be dilated as fuck because Pietro’s searching gaze turns triumphant. 

“So you do like me, too,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Clint by the sound of it. “Then why is this so complicated for you?”

“I guess I wanted to protect you from myself?”

“What if I don’t want your protection?”

In that moment, Clint realizes something important – he simply decided that Pietro wouldn’t want anything from him romantically because, well, that was easier than hoping and then getting his hopes crushed when the man rejected him. Seriously, he could have anyone; he’s cocky and attractive and clever and just plain awesome. Yet apparently he doesn’t want just anyone – he’s actually interested in Clint. 

He cracks a smile. “Then I guess I should ask you out on a date instead.”

Pietro doesn’t reply, not verbally; he closes the gap between their bodies, his lips covering Clint’s own and hungrily pressing down just as his torso and thighs connect with Clint’s. They are almost of equal height with Pietro merely a few inches taller so their bodies align pretty much perfectly. When Clint gasps at the contact, Pietro wastes no time and licks into his mouth, greedily swallowing every sound Clint makes after that because _oh Lord_ , that kid can kiss. 

Panting, Clint wraps his hands around the younger man, pulling him closer and then running his fingers over Pietro’s strong shoulders just as the guy pulls back long enough to lick a trail along his jaw and fasten his lips on Clint’s pulse point. 

“Ngh,” escapes Clint, and he lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud, turning it a bit to grant Pietro better access. There’s a hand stroking down his chest and stomach, quick in his opinion but for Pietro that’s probably glacial. The hand comes to a stop on Clint’s belt buckle, teasing but questioning too. 

He grabs Pietro’s wrist in response and the Enhanced stops sucking a probably impressive hickey onto his neck long enough to glance up, showing just how dark his eyes have become, filled with such heady lust that it goes straight to Clint’s groin. 

“Fuck, kid,” Clint gasps, “shouldn’t we be taking this slow?”

Pietro smirks up at him. “Slow is not really my style.”

“What if it’s mine?”

The other man stills immediately, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you want this?”

“Hell yes, I do,” Clint hurries to say, “but we’re not on a clock, Pietro. And this – I want to do this right. Do right by you.”

“You don’t need to win me over with flowers, Clint.”

“Don’t need doesn’t mean shouldn’t. You deserve to be treated right, kid.”

“Can’t you treat me right by letting me jerk you off?”

And fuck, Pietro talking dirty must be the hottest thing Clint’s ever heard. Maybe it’s the accent, maybe the tone, but it has him blinking a moment to stave off the wave of lust threatening to make him throw consideration into the wind. 

Clint suddenly finds himself on his back on the floor with Pietro straddling his hips, pressing his own obvious erection against Clint’s through too many layers of fabric. 

Damn, being manhandles like this shouldn’t be this arousing. 

“I want to make something clear,” Pietro raps, trailing a finger down Clint’s chest and rocking his hips in motions too shallow to provide much friction. “I’m not a blushing virgin. I have been fantasizing about this for too long to wait any longer. I want to date you properly, but I also want to get my hand on your dick.”

Another thrust, harder this time, has Clint moan embarrassingly, his fingers digging into Pietro’s hips. 

“One word and I will stop. We take it slow, if that’s what you prefer.”

Then Pietro sits back, his weight vanishing from Clint’s erection and hands gone from his chest. He already misses it like air. 

One day he’ll have to ask Pietro about his prior experience, because he honestly thought the Enhanced would, well, be a virgin, which caused part of Clint’s hesitation. But that’s for another day. For now, Clint decides to forget all notions about ‘doing it right’ and three dates and flowers and stuff. They ain’t the resident superhusbands, after all. 

Clint surges up with a grin to topple them over and he almost succeeds, but Pietro of course saw that coming and derails the movement, and the next thing Clint knows is that the kid is shirtless and Clint’s pants and underwear are in a pile next to them. 

“Oh fuck,” he curses, because Pietro’s straddling him again, still in his functional wear though with an impressive bulge, and wrapping one hand around Clint’s cock. 

Pietro just strokes him languidly for a few minutes, eyes watching his hips and thighs tremble under the ministrations. The young man gives a highly erotic picture, his muscles on display like that and moving underneath smooth skin. Clint’s eyes are drawn to his abs, shifting with Pietro’s ragged breath. 

Clint sits up and pulls the zipper of his hoodie down, then discards it along with the purple long-sleeved tee which leaves him only in a white undershirt that follows the rest onto a pile next to him. He reaches out then, finally touching Pietro’s skin, which is warm and soft to his touch. As his nails skirt over a nipple it hardens immediately and Clint can’t resist the urge to lean in and mouth at it. 

Pietro’s hips stutter and his hand on Clint’s cock stills for a moment before remembering what it was doing and keeping up a languid pace. 

It escalates quickly and a minute later, Clint has Pietro on his back on the gym floor and is puling his pants down with shaking fingers. Pietro’s dick is just as beautiful as the rest of the man, long and lean, uncut and beading precome that Clint can’t resist. 

It’s been ages since the last time he had his mouth around a cock, and yeah, he’s a bit rusty but Pietro doesn’t seem to care. His hands grip Clint’s hair in the best possible way and he starts thrusting up without hesitation, murmuring things in Serbian that Clint doesn’t quite catch. 

He opens his eyes and watches Pietro from underneath his lashes as one of his arms comes up to cover his eyes and he moans just as Clint’s tongue works his slit. Pietro’s back is arching off the floor, his skin pulled taunt over lean muscles and damn it, Clint needs to get a hand on his dick right now. 

It takes a bit to coordinate the rhythm of his mouth sliding up and down Pietro’s shaft with the rhythm of his hand while the other is holding Pietro’s hips down since they’ve begun moving more rapidly and Clint doesn’t want to lose an eye when the kid comes. The amount of self-control it must take for him to stay underneath him makes Clint impossibly harder as he thrusts into his fist. 

He looses himself in the cloud of lust and arousal, world narrowing down to just Pietro and him and it’s glorious. The hand in his hair tightens, tugging a bit as if to pull him off but Clint just hums around Pietro’s length and takes him deeper. The bitter fluid flooding his mouth still surprises him, because yeah, he kinda forgot about the taste. 

He swallows, sparing a quick thought to the regular tests SHIELD makes them both undergo, then sits back on his heels and speeds up his pace, drinking in the sight of Pietro’s pliant body, more relaxed in his post-coital haze than Clint’s ever seen the kid. 

Grey eyes are blinking up at him then, a challenging glint in their gaze as the younger man props himself up on his elbows. Clint grins, aiming his cock a little lower. Pietro bites his lip, then his tongue darts out to lick the same spot and shit, that’s Clint’s undoing. He spills himself all over Pietro’s chest and abs. 

Then Pietro smiles up at him, his eyes amused and pleased with a touch of something softer, that makes Clint’s heart skip a beat and his stomach flip. 

He smiles back before kissing the kid breathless. 

They grab a quick shower, because no matter how much Clint wants to drag Pietro off to a real bed, there’s still movie night and not even Cap and Stark skipped that when they first got together. 

Even though the sight of Pietro underneath the spray, hair darkened by the water and hands washing himself too quick for Clint’s eyes to follow is tempting as hell. 

“Do you mind…?” Pietro asks, nodding towards his already-hard-again cock that’s jutting out obscenely from its nest of light curls. 

“I guess you gotta if you don’t wanna die of blue balls.”

Pietro laughs, stroking himself faster. “That would really be unfortunate, old man.”

“Don’t hold back,” Clint tells him, then angles his body towards the man, giving him a show as he lathers himself. Pietro comes before the next minute has passed, leaving Clint slack-jawed. “Woah.”

“Sorry,” Pietro gasps. “Can’t help it.”

“Jeez, kid, no need to apologize. You’re hot when you’re jerking off.”

“Yeah?” He quirks an eyebrow. “You might have to get used to watching me.”

“Ain’t gonna be a problem,” Clint promises, and he means it. 

They dry off quickly after that, because if Clint spends any longer looking at Pietro in the shower or naked or like, at all, his dick’s gonna get in the way of movie night. 

Clint doesn’t know what to expect as they walk down the hallway leading into the kitchen and communal area. It’s definitely not the entire team gathered around the kitchen island, turning upon hearing them approach. Bruce is glowering, Steve seems expectant, Nat apprehensive and Wanda perfectly aware of the situation. Probably her connection to Pietro she was talking about. 

The kid just aims a smirk at their mates and takes Clint’s hand in front of everybody, intertwining their fingers. 

“Don’t we have a movie to watch?” Pietro asks and there’s a collective sigh of relief. Nat winks at Clint before she follows a smiling Wanda towards the living room. 

“Hold on,” Pietro suddenly whispers in his ear and a heartbeat later Clint and he are standing in front of the second love seat in the living room, Pietro’s hand still at the back of Clint’s head to support him through the breakneck speed. 

“Jeez, kid, a little warning,” Clint gasps only to have Pietro chuckle at him. 

“I gave you one.”

“Well, try for a longer pause next time,” he grumbles but flops down onto the sofa. Pietro joins him immediately and plasters himself against his side immediately. 

“I have wanted to do this for a long time now,” he confesses and Clint can’t resist placing a kiss on the crown of his head. 

“Congratulations,” Steve says when he reaches the living room. 

“Yeah, seriously, kudos Barton,” Tony adds, leaning back against Steve who lifts his arm immediately to grant his partner better access. “It takes a certain kind of guy to manage a much younger man. If you ever need pointers, I got a lotta lessons to teach you, padawan.”

Clint laughs unabashedly at that. “Stark, I think I got it covered better than you, old man.” 

“I really don’t care,” Rhodey interrupts, “as long as you exchange sex tips in private and not when everybody’s listening.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Bucky teases, “you might learn something.”

Rhodey snorts derisively. “You got it the wrong way ‘round, Barnes.”

“Dude, someone get the measuring tape!” Sam jokes, now occupying Clint’s old seat on the sofa next to Nat while Rhodey, Barnes and Vision have taken the chairs. 

“That will not be necessary,” Vision says, and everyone pauses. 

“Uh, why?” Sam ventures. 

“My data is sufficient to calculate relative penis sizes for every member of the team.”

His tone is decidedly deadpan, though for a split second no one’s sure if he’s joking or not. Then Vision’s lips twitch and the entire room bursts out laughing. Clint greatly enjoys the way Pietro’s body is shaking against his own with fits of laughter when he meets Bruce’s eye across the room. 

The man nods minutely and Clint nods back. His eyes flash green but they’re soft, thankfully. Good to know the Other Guy approves, too. Also good that Clint will do everything in his power to never ever loose or hurt that man in his arms. 

Pietro sighs contentedly and rests his head on Clint’s chest when they finally start the movie and Clint spends the next two hours watching Pietro with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, the feels these two are giving me <3 and I just love protective!Bruce... Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did! Would love to hear your thoughts, y'all =)


	14. Coming Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts off with a fun little bit of world building. I blame all the binge watching of vlog brothers and Crash Course vids I did while writing this fic. So I’m basically imagining John Green doing a video on the SHRA, inspired by his [similar vid about the Ukraine conflict](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2nklduvThs). And [this Crash Course vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66f4-NKEYz4&index=9&list=PL8dPuuaLjXtOfse2ncvffeelTrqvhrz8H) exemplifies very well how a bill becomes law in the US (which is super complicated; no wonder Congress never gets anything done when they’re not inspired by terrorist attacks). 
> 
> Brief headcanon note: In my ‘verse, it is impossible to get a bill through Congress as quickly as the PATRIOT Act was made law in 2011 because in the wake of all the loopholes and controversy surrounding the PATRIOT Act, there have been limitations put into place to avoid a similar, uh, disaster (says I as a European).

**The SHRA Explained or: The Patriot Act Reloaded**  
vlogbrothers  
Posted March 22nd, 2016.

Good morning, Hank. It’s Tuesday and I’m going to talk about the Superhuman Registration Act today because a lot of people have asked me to, and, quite frankly, it’s the most important bill debated in Congress right now. Except maybe the Accountability Act, but the AA – admittedly not the best acronym – and the SHRA are very much intertwined.

This is all extremely complicated and controversial, so I just want to apologize in advance for anything I get wrong, slash oversimplify, slash leave out. Okay? Okay.

So if you watched our CrashCourse video “How a Bill Becomes a Law” you already know the framework for what’s currently going on. If not, there’s the link in case you want to brush up. No, really, please do – it’s complicated enough that we made a seven-minute video on it. 

Most journalists argue that the SHRA began when a chemistry teacher named Robert Hunt launched a terrorist attack on the school he was working at. He had the ability to explode and put himself together – which on a chemical level is pretty cool, but in reality resulted in 367 dead, 129 of them children. Most died when Hunt, codenamed Nitro, destroyed the gymnasium during the school’s Autumn Fair. Only a few survived and one of those was Mrs. Susan Pearson, a lawyer and mother of three. She lost her children in the attack and together with her husband Harvey, who works as a lobbyist for the pharmaceutical multinational SanaVida, they thought of a way to prevent such tragedies in the future. The result was the Superhuman Registration Act, which the Senators of Nebraska, Patricia Kelly and Thomas Jones, introduced to the Senate on January 25th. 

What the bill asks for is that all super humans register with the US government in a publically accessible database and submit to appropriate training. Another clause requires all registered individuals to work for the government, which is where most of the controversy comes from. While Mrs. Pearson argues that such a law would have identified Robert Hunt as a Mutant, and as such Hunt would have been more closely investigated before he got a job. After all, the Brotherhood of Mutants as well as Hydra have been known to infiltrate institutions. Thus, the tragedy at Chadron, Nebraska, would have been avoided. Senator Jones also argues that training all super humans and having them work for the government to defend the nation will make us safer. 

Two other important points raised by those in favor of the SHRA are that it ensures that the monopoly on legitimate use of force lies with the state and not with privatized organizations or even vigilantes – yes, I’m referring to Stark’s SHIELD and the Fantastic Four. Also, Senator Kelly stresses that the bad guys like the Brotherhood or Hydra train their super humans, too, so why aren’t we doing it to better protect ourselves?

The flipside of this debate is what Captain America is advocating, which got a lot of coverage because an Enhanced Hydra operative known as Crossbones tried to assassinate the soldier right after he spoke in front of Congress. Captain Rogers takes issue, one: with the public database, saying that secret identities of superheroes exist to keep said heroes’ family and loved ones safe. Two, he criticizes the SHRA for curtailing civil liberties by imposing rigid laws that don’t even incorporate a clear definition of who counts as superhuman and who doesn’t. For example, would Hawkeye count as superhuman because of his impeccable aim, even though he is allegedly just, you know, human like you and I? Furthermore the good Captain says that superheroes should be above governmental jurisdiction because the government is controlled by political discourses and might at one point tell them who the villains are and who aren’t. Besides, the entire concept of superheroes rests on the heroes’ altruistic motivation to help people – if you force them into serving the government, then they’ll start to resent society for it and soon you’ll have superhumans rebelling against the law. Which, let’s be honest, the government is going to lose. They’re superhumans. Some of them can walk through walls!

Of course the underlying issue harks back a lot longer than that, and the title of today’s video was a bit spoiler-y, I admit. What the conflict boils down to is the question of how many – if any – civil liberties the state is allowed to curtail in order to keep the public safe. We saw the exact same debate with the Patriot Act, which granted federal agencies immense leeway with spying on citizens without obtaining a warrant, as well as a bunch of other stuff. 

And I’m not here to give you a definite answer as to which side is right here – it depends on what you value more: Do you think the state has the right to force people to register? Should that database be publicly accessible or limited to the eyes of institutions to screen potential employees? Should superhumans have to work for the government? Is this just a new form of discrimination or is the SHRA a valid security measure taken against people much more powerful than average humans?

All of these are complex questions, and while the situation is new, the conflict isn’t. 

I also wanted to talk about the Accountability Act. This bill wants to determine who pays for property damage caused by superhuman heroes or villains, as well as who is accountable for said heroes actions. Now, the bill in its current form, which is being debated in the House of Representatives, where all bills on appropriation of funds have to originate, proposes that damage repair should be paid for by a special fund for which the government has to allot money, and by a new tax. I know – more taxes! Scary! But considering how much chaos aliens and bad guys and misdirected teenage anger caused these past few years ever since that Hammer fell from the sky, well… We might really need a law to regulate who pays when Hulk smashes something. Tony Stark can’t keep buying buildings all over the globe… 

The second part – and the main reason why the bill has been dubbed the Accountability Act – is that SHIELD will be responsible for the actions of all registered superhumans if the SHRA passes. Right now SHIELD is only accountable for the Avengers and its other agents, but not for, say, Daredevil or Spider-Man. Although it is interesting to note that Daredevil, who is currently involved in a landmark case against the City of New York who is suing him for several millions of dollars in property damage, is being backed by Stark Industries. Who is also the chief financial benefactor of SHIELD. But the UN says it is okay, so I guess we’re just going to privatize world peace? Okay? Okay. 

All right. I hope I was able to shed some light on this pretty complex issue. I know I only scraped the surface in most respects, but as you may have noticed, Hank, I’m not entirely sure which side I’m on right now either. I’ll put some links in the description to other vloggers, both pro and con, who _have_ made up their minds, as to really shed light on both sides. But Hank, no matter if you’re Team Captain America or Team Iron Man, I’ll see you on Friday. And don’t forget to be awesome!

*

“It’s getting close. Status?” Steve asks, adjusting his grip on the shield. 

“Unchanged,” Bucky and Clint echo simultaneously over the coms. 

“They’re wrapping up. Engage as soon as the signal comes.”

Both Avengers confirm the order and Steve returns his attention to the audio transmission from inside the warehouse where Amanita Clayton is handing over a new protective device to Grant Ward in the company of Crossbones and several other Hydra thugs. 

It was actually Clint’s idea to flip the woman and it worked perfectly. Tony took it upon himself to visit Amanita and tell her she could either go to jail or help them get to Hydra. Orchestrating a meet between Amanita and Hydra after that was practically child’s play. 

“So we’re good here?” her voice sounds over the channel. “You’ll leave me and my wife alone from now on?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ward replies and then Steve hears a sighs of relief. 

“Thank the Gods…”

It’s their signal to engage. Barton and Bucky fire from their respective sniper positions and the bullets penetrate the windows and inject both Clayton and Ward with a paralytic while Steve leads the charge into the building. It’s not one of Hydra’s main headquarters but there are still enough operatives there to make a dent in the operation. 

Quicksilver has already brought the woman to safety and returns in time to take the feet out from under Crossbones before the man can reload his gun. Steve leaves them to it and sends his shield flying. 

“Three coming your way, Falcon,” Tony informs them.

He’s neither on the ground nor up in the air today given his shaking hands and how he cannot seem to sleep through the night at the moment. Thus Steve vetoed Iron Man’s involvement and Tony even agreed with minimal protest. He probably felt too guilty to do so since the insomnia and tremors (and his jumpiness) are symptoms of withdrawal, at least according to J.J. 

Which means that Tony is currently monitoring the team from the control van along with Maria Hill, with Bruce on standby. 

No one thinks this will turn into a Code Green, however – Wanda has conjured up a perimeter around the location to keep Hydra agents inside a ring of telekinetic energy for Steve, Nat, Pietro, Sam, and Rhodey, while Vision is waiting underneath the building should anyone try to escape through the sewers. Both suits are on standby as well in case anything goes wrong. 

Nothing does. 

It’s a real storybook mission. Crossbones merely breaks two of Pietro’s ribs when the kid initiates their agreed-upon maneuver but then Steve is behind Rumlow and jams the paralytic injection right into the gap between his mask and neck. 

“I found this on the floor,” Natasha quips, holding out Steve’s shield. 

“Thought I’d lost something. You wanna take him in?” 

“Nah, let Wilson do it.”

“With pleasure, bro,” Sam agrees. He has a cut above his eye that is bleeding a bit, yet apart from that he seems unharmed. Steve nods his assent and watches Sam haul Rumlow to his feet, then extend his wings to fly out of the building through the loading area. Outside, Steve can see Wanda’s bubble recede. 

Steve’s gaze returns to the floor of the warehouse and the many unconscious or heavily wounded Hydra thugs. 

“Let’s clean up.”

*

April sucks. 

Not April, the AI that Tony programmed when he was 25 as an April’s Fool’s joke (though one could argue that that April sucked as well), but the actual _month_ of April. 

Tony thought that he’d be safe once the shakes and the insomnia passed but nope, then there’s difficulty concentrating and mood swings, all of which makes working on Project Prometheus practically impossible and his relationship with the team challenging. If it weren’t for Steve’s endless patience, Tony has no fucking idea how he’d have survived those particularly shitty weeks where the symptoms peaked, or not as sober as he did. Namely: completely sober! _Suck on that, Howard._

And just as Tony thinks life at the facility might calm down somewhat, AIM has to go and ruin it by staging an attack in Wakanda that includes a small army (well, herd) of giant panthers, that you’d think Wakanda’s ruler T’Chaka aka Black Panther would be best equipped to deal with, but nope again. The guy has to get himself killed, though his son T’Challa, the new Black Panther, at least has the presence of mind to ask the WSC for help who of course send the Avengers. 

At the end of the day they’re victorious, ‘cos they’re awesome and all, but it doesn’t come cheap. 

One of the beasts almost claws Black Widow in half and the only reason she doesn’t bleed out on the jungle floor is ‘cos Barton plays the hero (by fending off the animal with his bare hand since that monster broke his bow, and Tony’s still disappointed that he didn’t see that fight live). Wilson’s wings get completely smashed while the guy himself thankfully only suffers a few scratches, and Barnes uses his metal arm as panther fodder to save Steve’s leg that same fate. 

Tony spends the time Steve is pacing Widow’s hospital room of the nearest hospital waiting for her to be done with surgery with taking T’Challa up on his offer of Vibranium as recompense for the aid. Within twenty-four hours, by which time Natasha has woken up once and Clint has voluntarily let Wanda ‘magically’ ease his nightmares twice, Tony has built Barnes the bestest, most badass new silver arm ever to be built. Guess there’s nothing that says “Thank you for saving my partner’s life” better than a shiny prosthetic with built in knifes. 

But yeah. April sucks. 

Recuperating takes ages, not as much physically (except in Natasha’s case) but most of all emotionally since that mission seriously almost brought them to their limit. Steve spends days developing new strategies for dealing with giant carnivores and other creatures, and Tony just counts the days until the fucking month is finally over. 

When May eventually arrives with the awesome news that Nelson & Murdock won their case against the City of New York, and J.J. also tells Tony that the 8th would mark his 70th day of recovery, Tony doesn’t hesitate to buy out an amazing restaurant in the city for the Avengers plus Clint’s family plus Pepper to celebrate the dawn of a new month. 

Pepper’s visit has other reasons, however. 

“Three of our employees have died in the past four weeks.”

“Three?”

Pepper nods grimly, swiping her tablet to blow up said people’s profiles. Two women, one man. Two in America, one in their Beijing facility. 

“Jiao Chengyu was the head of IT; we’re having trouble finding a replacement to match his caliber. Chloe Lachman worked the reception in Malibu and Ruth Dalton was a research assistant in Massachusetts. All three had similar symptoms but the autopsies revealed nothing.”

Tony blinks at Pepper. “Nothing?” he echoes skeptically. 

“Nothing. Lachman’s family won’t allow us to take any more samples, and Dalton has already been cremated, so all I can offer are Chengyu’s samples.”

“Ah, that’s why you went to visit Bruce yesterday and he hasn’t resurfaced since?” Pepper nods. “What’s the current theory?”

“Am I a medical professional, Tony? Even the best coroners in California were baffled, what makes you think I have more insight?”

“But you always know everything!”

“Not this time. It might be some kind of poisoning, but no one was able to detect anything.”

“Could this be AIM? Or Hydra?”

“I doubt it. Apart from Chengyu, no one had access to vital information.”

“Could’ve been test runs.”

Pepper winces, pursing. “Don’t give me more things to worry about.”

Tony grips her shoulder to hopefully soothe her, at least a little bit. “Sorry, Peps.”

She allows him to hug her, too, which just attests to the level of stress she’s been under. Quarterly reports are always a huge strain on her; Tony recalls that quite well from sleeping on the couch occasionally whenever those times of year came around. 

_Well, now’s as good as any to give her something to be happy about,_ Tony thinks, pulling back. 

“Want some good news?”

Her eyes narrow immediately. “What kind of good news?”

“The kind where I put off telling you ‘cos I fear I’ll screw it up but then eventually succumb to sharing anyway?”

“Okay, if this is about the improvements to the veteran prosthetics program due to the Vibranium Mr. T’Challa supplied you with, then I’m sorry but I already know all about that.”

“What?! Helen promised she wouldn’t –”

“There’s a high profit-margin, Tony, of course she’d tell me.”

“Shame on you, you dirty old capitalists!”

That has Pepper snort rather unladylike. Yeah, glass houses and stones and all that, Tony gets it; it’s hilarious. He’s trying for a bombshell of a confession here, cut him some slack… 

“So?”

“Uh.” Tony swallows, running a hand through his hair. Pepper’s mouth immediately thins and Tony holds up his hands. “It’s good, I promise! Granted, you might be a bit jeal- no, ‘cos considering the big picture it’s definitely a good thing, though it might have some repercussion if it gets out– ”

“You proposed.”

“What?! No!” Tony practically shouts. “Why would you – we’re not even out yet! And who says I want to marry like, at all? My fondness for societal norms? Or –”

“Then what is it?”

Tony clears his throat and goes for broke. “I quit.”

Pepper’s gaze turns quizzical. “Quit… having J.J. remind you of birthdays?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “I quit drinking. Seventy days ago today, in fact. Wasn’t sure I’d hold out this long, so I didn’t make a fuss, but…”

He trails off and Pepper goes completely still for several seconds as she processes this. _Shit._ Tony feared she’d take it personally that he didn’t do the same thing while in a relationship with her even though she spent considerably more energy on getting him to stop than Steve ever did… But it’s Pepper, force of nature and strongest woman Tony knows (except maybe for Romanoff), so it only gives her pause for a moment before she breaks into a heartfelt smile. 

“I’m proud of you, Tony.”

“Nah, better wait a bit longer ‘til you sing my praises. It’s no piece of cake, seriously.”

“I’d think so. But seventy days, that’s…” 

_Oh-oh._ Tony forgot she can calculate exceptionally well in her head. 

“You stopped right after the Launch Fair?” 

Tony shrugs, aiming a pleading look at her to just _please, let it go_ , and wonders of wonders she actually listens. May rocks. 

“Is that why you were so irritable before Wakanda?”

“Withdrawal’s a bitch,” Tony grumbles and she laughs, pulling him into a hug this time. 

They leave for the restaurant soon after that. Tony spends the time he’s not watching Steve talk art with Pepper observing Pietro with Clint and his kids and it ends up being so tooth-rottingly sweet that he skips desert. The kids, as far as Clint and Pietro think, don’t know anything about their father’s new relationship, but Tony can see Lilo and Copper (Lila? Cooper?) monitoring Pietro and Clint’s interactions like hawks. 

Then he spends half a minute laughing about his own pun, drawing a worried glance from Steve and Pepper. _Hawks. Heh._

The little brats don’t seem particularly bothered, just curious. Speedy Gonzales has always been a big hit with them, so Tony isn’t that surprised. Maybe the fact that he’s a man and not a new woman helps with the whole ‘we just lost our mom’ type of problem… 

Anyway, the evening’s exactly what they need and for the first time since Wakanda Steve sleeps through the night without waking Tony with nightmare-induced shouting. It’s fine, seriously, and Tony won’t ever be unwilling to hold Steve when he’s had another dream about panthers taking Bucky away from him for good this time, but it hasn’t been good for Steve either. A good night’s sleep goes a long way, really. 

Apart from that, Monday holds another milestone, which is one more reason in the long list of why May is shaping up to be way better than April: the StarkVision line is expected to reach 100 Million sold products, which has Tony vibrating with pride and excitement all day with a digital countdown floating around him wherever he goes.

“Why can’t you just look at your phone or something like the rest of the world?” Rhodey complains, shaking his head at the countdown. 

Tony sticks his tongue out ‘cos he’s a mature and well-adjusted adult and goes back to cutting up melon slices out of Rhodey’s grabbing-distance on the kitchen island. 

“Real mature, Tones.”

“You still surprised?” comes Clint’s voice from the doorway and a second later two slices are missing from Tony’s plate. 

“EY! I swear, Maximoff, I’ll develop something to slow you down!”

Pietro just sneers and feeds Clint a slice like the lovesick teenagers they’ve turned into. 

“Come on, get a room, guys. We’re eating here! My blood sugar’s already way too high ‘cos of your incessant PDA, seriously.”

For some reason that has Rhodey burst into laughter during the second it takes Pietro to place the demolished remnants of his slices on back on Tony’s plate and then whisk Barton away to the living room to fool around until the kitchen’s free again. 

“Aren’t you sitting in a glasshouse here, man?”

“What? No, Steve and I’ve never been this bad!” Tony protests just as the object of his affection enters, freshly showered after training SHIELD recruits and smelling like heaven. “Hey, love.”

Steve pecks him on the lips on his way to the fridge and when Tony turns back to Rhodey, the guy’s eyebrows are practically one with his hairline. 

Tony sighs in defeat. 

“Oh, Tony,” Steve interrupts his humiliation, closing the fridge door and uncapping the water bottle. “Can I take my watch into the Secret Service headquarter in Washington or are they just going to make me leave it with security?”

“That’s be pointless ‘cos J.J.’s already firmly linked to government servers…” Tony trails off when the implications of Steve’s question unfold. “Wait, you’re flying to Washington?”

Steve meets his confusion with an imploring look. “I told you. You know this, Tony.”

And to his credit it only takes two seconds for him to remember the context. He snaps his fingers in triumph. “That Mutant Day thingy! We’re doing security.”

Steve smiles, obviously pleased. “So you _were_ listening.”

“Well, you were dressed, so that helped…”

“Confirmation meeting?” Rhodey cuts in, aimed at Steve who nods. “When’s the event again?”

“The third Saturday in May, like every year since its inception ten years ago.”

“What’re we talking about?” Clint shouts from across the room. Tony’s baffled that he manages to detach himself from the kid long enough to breathe, let alone annoy them with questions. 

Steve turns his eyes towards the ceiling, heaving a sigh. “The International Mutant Equality Day. Established in 2005 after protests prevented the Mutant Registration Act and first celebrated in 2006. I mean I was frozen – what’s your excuse?” 

“Don’t play the Capsicle card,” Clint grumbles. “Can’t win against the Capsicle card…”

“Shut up and get over here, Barton! Kitchen’s free.”

“Finally!”

The last one was Pietro and the second Tony makes room the two Avengers are there. Tony ignores them (not that Quicksilver’s much more than a whirl anyway) and slides into the barstool next to Rhodey, eyes firmly fixed on the counter that’s been stuck at 99,999,987 devices for several minutes now. 

Clint follows his gaze. “Who buys all that shit?”

“Sophisticated people, that’s who,” Tony shoots back without missing a beat. 

“Pepper said a lot of companies have switched to all SI-tech because of the new holographic devices and special deals they only received if upgrading their entire system,” Steve volunteers and Rhodey pokes Tony’s side. 

“Are your exes always talking behind your back?”

“Oh, they’re exchanging sex tips via Skype.”

“Ugh, Tones, I do not need that visual!”

“- and J.J. said that StarkVision is a new trend so the sales are riding that wave.”

“It’s not just a trend!” Tony protests, turning indignantly towards Steve. “StarkVision promises sustainability and stands for better security –”

But just then the countdown jumps to… 

“ONE HUNDRED MILLION!” Tony shouts, raising his arms and jumping up from the chair to do a victory lap around the kitchen, which he ends in kissing the life out of Steve because he thinks he might burst otherwise. “I bet we’ll have a larger market share than Android by next year! And then Google will beg us to install StarkVision, and then every other Silicon Valley frat boy will follow and I’ll get to make Mark Zuckerberg wear a freaking _suit_ to the press conference!” 

Steve is chuckling softly but other than that the kitchen’s silent. Turning around reveals the other three Avengers blinking owlishly at him. 

“I guess the Tony who was afraid to build stuff is officially a relic of the past?” Pepper’s voice precedes her entrance into the kitchen, sporting a wide smile and carrying a tablet. 

Tony’s grin widens. “One hundred million, Pepper!”

“Yes, and forty million of these are StarkPhones alone. By next quarter we’ll be selling more phones than Apple and Samsung combined.”

An embarrassing sound that might have similarities with a whine escapes Tony before he can hold it back. Don’t get him wrong, his competitors produce solid quality, but compared to his things they’re children’s toys that won’t hold up in the world of cybercrime and work speedup. 

“I thought there are laws against market dominance?” Steve wonders while Pietro and Clint return to their cooking and Rhodey buries his head in his arms on the counter. 

Tony waves him off. “Nah, as long as we keep our prices within a certain range, we’re good. ‘s not like we’re using illegal means to make people buy our stuff or force competitors out.”

Pepper nods after a moment’s deliberation. “Basically what he said, only in legalese. I mean they _could_ investigate us like they did with Microsoft once –” Tony chuckles at that – “but they wouldn’t find anything. We aren’t intimidating providers into buying our products.”

“Yeah, we’re just that awesome!” Tony declares. 

No one thinks to argue with that. 

*

Clint might be older than ever, but he’s reaching new heights in terms of fitness levels, no kidding. 

Well, he wouldn’t last three days with Pietro without shaping up – and seriously, if Nat thinks just because she has some new and truly impressive scaring near her naval she has the right to keep humming Grease songs, then Clint is going to annoy her with the most explicit details possible about his sex life. 

Which is brilliant, to say the least. Clint always knew that being intimate with Pietro would be unlike anything he has ever experienced, but the reality of it took some getting used to. For one, Pietro’s refractory period is basically non-existent, which means that Clint gets to witness a staggering amount of orgasms. For another, the kid is a quick learner ( _hehe_ ) and very versed in online research. 

“What is your position on cock cages?” 

_Case in point._

Pietro is surfing the web on his bed when Clint returns from the range one Friday evening after an afternoon of trying to get rookies to shoot straight. By now Clint is able to read his expression well enough to know Pietro isn’t too sure about the device in question and Clint can’t fault him for that. 

They both vetoed restraints when they first talked about preferences and stuff, for reasons neither of them needed to delve further into, but they never ventured into more adventurous waters during that conversation. Afterwards? _Oh, yeah._ Clint’s just glad that J.J. has a strict privacy subroutine when it comes to sex toy orders. 

Before Clint can respond though, Pietro succumbs to a laughing fit. “O Bože,” he gasps, “they have one called ‘The Bird’!”

“Wait, you want _me_ to wear it?” Clint asks, honestly surprised as he sits down behind Pietro, wrapping his arms around the younger man and looking over his shoulder at the product description. The device seems to be made of stainless steel, has a cock ring and a streamlined cage that apparently never allows for a full erection.

Pietro shakes his head, leaning back against Clint’s chest. “You would need the opposite, old man,” he teases, smile audible in his voice so Clint’s not even getting riled up. Well, not anymore. Old man jokes really have become coveted declarations of affection in Clint’s mind. 

“Why not? Gotta spend your salary on something that ain’t sweets for the kids. Which I know you’re smuggling in with ya, by the way.”

When Pietro turns around in his arms after shutting the laptop, his expression clearly reads ‘Who, me?’, but Clint hasn’t believed that even before they got together. He kisses it right off Pietro’s handsome face, burying his fingers in the man’s hair and relishing the by-now familiar smell that’s so distinctly Pietro. 

“How long do we have until we are expected at dinner?” 

_Fuck_ , the things that man does to Clint when he lays on the accent should be illegal. He barely has enough blood in his brain left to muster a response. 

“Maybe half an hour?”

“Good,” is all Pietro says before manhandling Clint onto his back and straddling him while pulling off his tee. Clint grabs Pietro’s hands before they can do anything else and just takes a minute to look, letting his eyes trace the defined lines of his torso before following them with his tongue until Pietro trembles from the strain of keeping still. 

“Go on,” Clint murmurs finally and Pietro doesn’t waste a single second before he divests both of them of their clothing. It’s a practiced dance that’s never the same, no matter how often they’re doing it, or how. 

Sometimes what follows is slow and passionate, other times it’s quick and dirty, or frantic or tender, and Clint couldn’t pick a favorite if his life depended on it. 

Today Pietro grips Clint’s hardening cock and licks a stripe up the shaft until he reaches the slit. Clint hisses when his tongue dips into the opening and even he can feel his dick twitch in Pietro’s palm. 

“Perfect,” the young man whispers against Clint’s length before taking his time to move above him once more. With a smirk, Pietro reaches behind himself to take a hold of Clint again and is about to lower himself when Clint’s hands tighten on Pietro’s hips. “I’m ready,” the kid says with a shake of the head and Clint almost embarrasses himself because the thought of Pietro, fingering himself open while waiting for Clint’s return… _Geez._

Pietro lowers himself as slowly as he can, which is still pretty fast. Clint has trouble keeping his eyes open to watch while tight heat envelops him, and he murmurs a soft, “You feel so good, darling…”

“You too, _ljubavi_ ,” Pietro gasps before he starts moving and Clint throws his head back because then Pietro starts working him fast and rough immediately, the muscles of his stomach clenching and releasing at a breathtaking rhythm. Clint lifts one hand from Pietro’s hips to stroke his sternum, then dips lower and lower until his partner stills in anticipation. Clint draws it out four more seconds, which is enough to make Pietro’s thighs tremble where they are bracketing Clint’s hips, before he finally wraps his finger around Pietro’s already rock-hard erection. 

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock, darling,” Clint tells him, and that’s exactly what Pietro does. 

There are days where Pietro lets Clint have the reins, when Clint splays him out on the mattress and worships his body with tongue and lips and hands, or when Clint goes on his hands and knees and the other man works him open as slowly as his patience allows before thrusting into him. Then there are days like today when Pietro takes over completely and Clint lets him, nothing to restrain him but his own free will. 

And he enjoys every second of it. 

Pietro climaxes for the first time after Clint twists the fist he is thrusting into while sliding up and down Clint’s dick, warm white fluid spilling everywhere. Clint surges up to keep Pietro upright in those brief moments of post-orgasmic disorientation, rolling his hips because sue him, he’s only human, until Pietro’s eyes clear and his cock takes renewed interest in the proceedings. 

When it first became clear how much endurance Clint had (probably in part due to the number three in his age), Pietro was apologetic until Clint managed to convey how much watching Pietro come up to fifteen times a night was not a burden for him. Plus, you know, Clint is capable of speaking up for himself. 

Now, after almost two months together, Pietro isn’t ashamed or embarrassed anymore, he just owns it, and that’s gotta be the hottest thing about their sex life. 

Like when Pietro pushes him back onto the bed with enough force to make Clint bounce off the mattress a bit, or when he continues to ride Clint until he comes a second time all over his chest, which is when Clint sees stars as well. 

The afterglow with Pietro isn’t much of a glow rather than an after blip, though, except when they really have time for it, which they don’t, so Clint’s cleaned up and has an arm full of equally spunk-free Pietro before his brain has come back online. 

“Clint?” Pietro whispers and when he opens his eyes, Pietro’s grey ones are staring back at him apprehensively. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the kid promises. “I just… I mean this appears to be working?”

Clint tightens his arm around Pietro’s waist to pull him closer. “Yeah?”

“And I don’t want it to end anytime soon… Or ever,” he adds, averting his eyes and blushing slightly. Clint’s heart skips a beat. 

“Uh, me neither,” he stammers, swallowing thickly. “So…?”

Pietro takes a deep breath and looks up to meet his eyes again. “I think we should tell Lila and Cooper.”

“Huh.”

Don’t get Clint wrong – he’s thought about filling in his children on his new relationships status before tonight. They adore Pietro and all, but right now they see him as a co-Avenger. What if they can’t accept him as a new parental figure? Okay, granted, Pietro’s probably more like a sibling to them right now, but if they know about their relationship… 

Pietro raises an eyebrow. “You are worried they will not like me anymore.” 

“Yeah…”

“I think you should give your children more credit, _ljubavi_.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because they are more attentive than you might think. Adults tend to underestimate those younger than them.”

“You saying they might already suspect something?”

Pietro shrugs within his embrace. “Only one way to find out.”

Clint laughs at that and steals a kiss that almost derails their conversation (damn Pietro’s amazing kissing abilities; another thing that should be illegal) before nodding. “All right.”

“All right?” 

Clint nods again and Pietro beams. 

*

The following evening when they finally break the news to Lila and Cooper (and Nate, but he’s asleep in Clint’s arms), Lila cheers and breaks into a victory dance while Cooper groans and cusses. 

“Cooper, come on, we don’t use that word!”

“Sorry, Dad,” he grumbles, and the knot in Clint’s stomach becomes tighter. Before he can exchange a worried glance with Pietro, however, Lila grins up at him from where she came to a stop near his knees. 

“I get Cooper’s pocket money next month!” she declares, and _what the hell?_

“Uh, why is that, munchkin?” 

“Because I won the bet!”

“Which bet?” Pietro asks, and this time it’s Cooper who replies from where he’s slumped on the sofa. 

“I bet you wouldn’t tell us until June. Lila said May, so she won.”

Now Clint and Pietro _do_ exchange a glance, but it’s more apprehensive than worried. 

“You mean, uh, this isn’t a surprise to you?”

“Please, Dad,” Cooper says. “We have eyes.”

“I noticed it first!” Lila adds proudly. “And a couple of weeks ago at the restaurant Cooper saw it, too!”

Pietro’s grin is decidedly smug but Clint isn’t sure they’re out of the woods yet. 

“So it’s not a problem? Or weird?” he presses on, eyes darting from Cooper’s grumpy expression to Lila’s delighted smile, checking for any sign of fake endorsement. 

“Nah, Pietro’s cool,” Cooper finally announces and Clint releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“That is high praise coming from you,” Pietro acknowledges, tone serious and eyes sparkling, though if the latter’s from the good news or because Cooper’s so incredibly emotional confession profoundly moved him, Clint can’t really say. 

He turns towards Lila who is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “What about you, kiddo?”

She takes a moment, probably to organize her words because she has a way of tumbling over them when she’s in a hurry to make a point, then she looks at Pietro. 

“As long as you make Dad happy and don’t try to be our new Mommy, it’s all right. We already have a Mommy, even if she’s in heaven now.”

Pietro smiles, sliding off the couch so he’s level with Lila. “I would never think I could take her place, I promise, _Lilja_. I mean, I never met her, but she sounds great –”

“She’s the best!” Lila agrees and Clint’s throat is suddenly closing up a bit, especially when he catches Cooper nodding emphatically across from him.

Pietro’s expression sobers a little. “And I also promise that I will do everything to make your father happy. And if you think I don’t, or if I make a mistake, you should tell me, okay?”

Lila nods solemnly, but then something seems to occur to her because she tilts her head at Pietro. 

“What is it, _malo mače_?” 

“Will you still bring us sweets now?”

Pietro freezes and Clint snaps the fingers of his free hand. “I knew it!”

Pietro eventually reacts by hanging his head while Lila seems to realize her mistake, but Clint’s too busy grinning like a Cheshire cat to even be mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I think the kitchen scene of this chapter might be one of my favourite moments in this entire fic so far. Hope you liked it as well! 
> 
> **Serbian words:** “Lilja” is Pietro’s choice of hypocorism for Lila. According to Google, “O Bože” means “Oh God” in Serbian. And “ljubavi” means “love/my love” according to a comment on a blog entry I found, and “malo mače” equals “little kitten” because I learnt that variations of “kitten” are frequently used in Serbian to refer to loved ones, including children. Please correct me if that’s wrong! ([x](http://rosemarybaileybrown.blogspot.de/2007/08/nobody-calls-their-wives-honey-or.html), [x](http://en.allexperts.com/q/Serbian-Language-3393/2010/11/Term-grandmother-elderly-person.htm%20))
> 
> ‘The Bird’ is an [actual cock cage](http://www.extremerestraints.com/chastity-devices_26/the-bird-cage-chastity-device_3939.html%20) I found during research… *giggles* Link contains NSFW images. 
> 
> PS: I'm afraid I have been cheating on Tony and Steve. I blame Wentworth Miller and his brilliant portrayal of Captain Cold in The Flash... *goes-off-to-drown-in-Leonard-Snart-feels*  
> PPS: The latter will not interfere with the next updates, only my sanity.


	15. Acts of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL for 200 Kudos!!! You guys are the best :D
> 
> And it’s Mutant Day! I can already see this story’s midpoint on the horizon… Also, Tony was complaining that I haven’t written any Steve/Tony smut in a while, so here ya go :) Bottom!Steve warning, though.
> 
>  **Regarding X-men:** I'm mostly imagining First Class/DOFP as background for this AU, but only very loosely. Basically it's a modern AU with powers, not unlike what I did in "Demoted". I hope that helps avoid some confusion? 
> 
> Another **warning** for a lot of Media vs. Avengers type of things. My Muse and I might have got a little carried away in our enthusiasm for world building… #SorryNotSorry  
>  (The latter ended up taking ages to format only to not work like I imagined... so Ao3 can't display font colors and I couldn't get the images to work, so I'll just link to the nicer version of the worldbuilding in the text and in the end notes for those interested.)

Tony finally gets what all those recovery bloggers are on about when they rave about how much energy they have thanks to sobriety, ‘cos seriously? Tony’s mind is _loving_ this!

Well, after an entire month of irritability and mood swings and trouble concentrating, Tony feels like the universe owes him some quality inventing time, and he’s making the most of it. He already solved two of R&D’s current hot spots and is making headway with Project Prometheus… or at least he thinks he is. 

He stifles a curse, though only ‘cos Steve’s still slumbering next to him on the bed. It’s an hour before Steve usually gets up, so that’s okay. Tony’s just back to his usual erratic sleep schedule, which is actually a lot more structured now that he’s in a stable relationship with someone who’s living in the same city as he is (or somewhere that Tony also has a room and spends a lot of time; yeah, whatever). But still – some nights he wakes up before five and feels like trying to solve the world’s energy crisis. 

“Morning,” comes from his left and when Tony tears his eyes away from the schematics, Steve is blinking up at him entirely too awake for this ungodly morning hour.

“Hey, you. Did I wake you?”

Steve shakes his head against the pillow and the sheet slips further down his back as he props himself up on his arms to meet Tony for a fleeting kiss (since, well, morning breath is a thing). 

“No. Woke up a while back. Guess I should stop deluding myself and actually get up.”

“Nervous?”

Steve nods, and stretches his hands above his head, pulling the muscles in his chest and stomach deliciously taunt. 

“Come on, you and the Secret Service are a pedantic match made in perfectionist heaven, Cap! Your contingency plans got contingency plans.” It’s true. Tony’s seen them. 

“I know, it’s just…” 

Tony glances up again when Steve trails off. “You mean it’s just the ten year anniversary of the Mutant Equality Day in a year when there’s another bill trying to regulate superhumans in Congress and Hydra and AIM and the Brotherhood are all still operational and probably scheming like the evil little schemers that they are?”

Steve’s chest heaves with the intensity of his answering sigh. “Pretty much, yes.”

“Well, we’re as prepared as we’ll ever be. Plus, hey, Xavier’s gonna be there, and he’s like a level four – or ten? I always forget the Mutant scale, so limiting, really… Anyway, Xavier’s one of the most powerful telepaths worldwide, so even if Emma Frost shows up in person, I wouldn’t be worried.”

“I _know_ ,” Steve insists, though his pinched eyebrows tell a different story entirely. 

“You still worry, yeah.” Tony pauses deliberately, waiting until Steve’s gaze finds his to let his eyes dip lower and run across the expanse of exposed skin Steve’s presenting him with. “You want me to distract you?”

Steve swallows and Tony can’t help but admire the movement of his Adam’s apple. “Well, we got the time…”

“An excellent point, Cap. That serum really gave you some impressive mental prowess, didn’t it?”

“Cut the teasing or I won’t let you fuck me after all,” Steve shoots back without missing a beat and just like that, Tony’s cock goes from ‘intrigued’ to ‘hell yes let’s do this!’ 

Now it’s Tony’s turn to swallow thickly and Steve who watches his throat work, eyes darkening. “In that case I extend my sincerest apologies.”

“Aren’t you polite today?” Steve quips but he’s already turning around, retrieving the lube from his night stand and then settling onto his stomach with a cushion for support underneath his stomach as Tony makes to slick up his fingers. 

He hums appreciatively when Steve wriggles his ass – it’s a glorious ass, so humming’s probably a bit of an understatement – and decides to draw this out a bit. He puts the lube down and spreads Steve’s cheeks enough to see the pink pucker clench minutely in anticipation, though instead of rubbing the tip of a finger over the perineum, Tony licks a stripe across the hole, which has Steve curse into the second pillow. 

“We got time, right?” Tony asks, not expecting a verbal response and receiving none. Steve just pushes his ass back greedily and the picture is too fucking hot for Tony to tease any more. 

He’s rimmed Steve enough to know what he likes and he pulls out all the stops since this whole thing began with him trying to distract the guy. He circles his tongue around the opening, exerting enough pressure for Steve to really feel it until the ring of muscle relaxes, practically welcoming Tony inside. 

He adds a finger when Steve’s gasps turn into those soft little whimpers that make Tony’s cock bead precome, and goes right for Steve’s sweet spot, massaging it tenderly as to not let this end too soon. 

He eventually withdraws and ends with a lingering kiss against Steve’s pucker, his erection twitching when the wet skin flutters at the absence of touch. 

“Tony –”

“Yeah, just gotta remember where I left – ah!” 

Steve shifts but pauses when he hears the sound of a bottle being uncapped, though Tony hurries up nevertheless (mostly for selfish reasons of the ‘I need to be inside my fucking boyfriend five minutes ago’ variety) and does an extremely sloppy prep job ‘cos said boyfriend keeps panting, “I’m ready, Tony, just get on me already!”

Kinda hard to stay patient then, really. 

Tony bottoms out at the first thrust, much to Steve’s apparent pleasure, and he moans deeply, the sound travelling straight to Tony’s groin. His hips start moving without actual conscious thought on his part, but it’s probably better this way ‘cos he couldn’t keep a rhythm if he wanted to. Letting baser instincts take over is really a great plan, he decides, and stops holding back. Steve likes it, he told Tony before, who’s learnt pretty fast that worrying about tears and bleeding isn’t necessary with Steve’s superhuman metabolism and healing powers. 

Steve comes without a hand on his cock after matching only a few dozens of Tony’s thrusts by pushing back, the muscles of his torso shifting and hands twisting into the sheets, Tony’s name stumbling over Steve’s lips. 

“You’re so gorgeous when you come, darling,” Tony gasps, feeling the heat inside him grow exponentially when Steve clenches around his length and the man _keeps pushing back_ and _damn_ , that move does Tony in every single time. 

He wraps his body across Steve’s back, hands sliding from Steve’s hips to around his chest as he gives in to his orgasm, thinking about how Steve probably feels Tony filling him up right now and now _that_ sends another jolt of pleasure up Tony’s spine. 

He stays draped over Steve while they both lie there bonelessly, and Tony kisses Steve’s shoulder blade, drawing a contented hum from his boyfriend. 

Sometimes Tony can’t believe his luck. “I love you,” he whispers into Steve’s warm skin. “I don’t think I tell you enough, and post-coital declarations have a bad rep and all, but I do, Steve, I really do. Now more so than ever, maybe.”

“I love you too, Tony.” 

He smiles into Steve’s shoulder. “But you probably still want me to pull out at some point, right?”

Steve rumbles something that sounds like a yes and Tony can feel the vibrations against his own chest. 

They still got time, so Tony stays right where he is. Where he belongs. 

*

“You seem tense, Captain Rogers.”

Steve forces his jaw to unclench as he turns towards the voice he has only yet heard through a device in one of the many conferences between the Secret Service, the Avengers, and the New York Police Department. 

The man is moderately tall, with sandy brown hair, a lined face that might have been very handsome before the stress of his job drained too many resources from his skin, and un-typically lean if you subscribe to the stereotype of donut-loving American cops (which Steve doesn’t; he is actually still confused by it). New York’s police chief is in full uniform, oozing confidence. 

“Commissioner Shaw,” Steve greets, extending his hand which the other man clasps immediately, smiling wide enough to bare his teeth. 

“Please, call me Sebastian. We’re both leaders of equal statue, no need to be so formal.”

“Steve,” he grits out, his hackles rising. He doesn’t know why but Commissioner Shaw makes his skin prickly and switching to a first name basis with him is not something Steve has ever wanted to do. 

“Wonderful. Now tell me, why so tense?”

“It is a big event, sir.”

Shaw pats Steve’s uniform-clad forearm. “Sebastian, please! And we’re prepared. There really is no need to worry, Steve.”

“I just prefer to remain vigilant, _Sebastian_ ,” Steve manages and the other man barks a laugh, throwing his hair back. 

“Good point, Captain,” Shaw says with a chuckle, moving his hand to Steve’s shoulder and squeezing briefly. “Everyone in place? I’m doing a last sweep before Matthew gets up on that stage.”

 _Naturally Shaw is on a first name basis with the President_ , Steve thinks, wondering if it’s the man’s tone or Steve’s negative bias that makes the apparently off-handed comment sound like a sneer. 

“The Avengers are all in place and ready to intervene if necessary.”

“Wonderful. And try to have a little fun, why don’t you? It’s a celebration, for Christ’s sake!”

“Of course, Commissioner.”

Shaw finally leaves and Steve has to resist the urge to change his uniform and look for a place to shower. Something about that guy rubs him the wrong way yet he cannot for the life of him put a finger on the underlying cause. 

‘Sebastian’ is right about one thing, though – Steve should not worry this much. The area that needs to be covered is wide, taking up a large part of Central Park below the Harem Meer. The main stage is located near Xavier’s Community Center as well as the main focal point of everyone’s guarding endeavors since President Ellis is going to hold his speech there soon. Afterwards, Ellis is going to visit the Community Center along with his wife and kids in the company of the press, Charles Xavier, and a select group of his students and teachers. Then the First Family is going to make a round of the celebration grounds, which is the point when they are most vulnerable. 

Iron Legion is guarding the perimeter and scanning for devices that NYPD scans might not pick up on. Guns have been prohibited along with knives, fireworks and several other items but if AIM or the Brotherhood really wants to stage an attack, they won’t let this stop them. 

The Avengers are scattered systematically around the perimeter with War Machine on Ellis and Steve on the rest of the First Family in addition to several Secret Service agents. 

“Eagle has landed,” Agent Darrow, Ellis’ principle protection detail, transmits over the coms and Steve moves further towards the curb, waiting until the row of cars becomes visible. 

He spends the next two hours under permanent stress. He can’t even enjoy Tony’s incredibly scathing running commentary on Ellis’ speech about how “Mutant rights are Human rights”, accusing the President of pandering to the crowd with one eye on his bid for re-election in November. 

Steve isn’t too sure where Ellis stands on the SHRA. He seems to truly believe in Mutant rights, yet given that the election campaign is heating up, Steve doesn’t trust this belief to extend to vetoing the bill should it ever reach him. 

He exchanges a few pleasant words with Professor Xavier while they are waiting for the First Family to join them behind the stage, then accompanies the entourage into the Center. He really needs to visit it privately one day – it is a large, modern building with clear lines, lots of windows and some interesting nooks from what Steve can see, and the atmosphere is incredibly welcoming and inclusive. 

Despite all that, Steve doesn’t allow himself to get too distracted but he does pose for a few pictures with children, both with and without visible mutations, which earns him a lot of attention from the journalists that are tailing Xavier and the First Family. 

Eventually their group reaches the final stage of the President’s visit and Steve’s hyper vigilance returns with a vengeance. 

“Avengers, report,” he demands, receiving several “All clear”s in return that fails to soothe his worries. 

When the first shock wave shakes the ground beneath his feet, Steve only barely resists the urge to shout, “I told you so!”

*

An hour later, chaos reigns. 

Steve managed to deflect the cloud of poisonous spikes aimed at President Ellis with his shield, and War Machine extracted him immediately after the female Mutant screamed “Make room for the next step of evolution, vermin!”, yet it took Iron Legion twenty-three seconds to reach the rest of the First Family. The First Lady fell and twisted her ankle, but other than that they escaped unharmed. 

Ever since those initial seconds, Steve has taken over the evacuation process along with Clint and Mr. Fantastic, while the rest of the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, and superhuman volunteers are battling the Brotherhood’s small strike team of Mutants. 

Steve catches glimpses of Natasha, Bucky, and Pietro trying to subdue the red-skinned and horned teleporter Azazel, watches in awe as a winged girl spits fireballs at Sam who evades them expertly, makes a huge detour around the Hulk and the Thing facing off against Sabertooth and Magma, and spends one brief second on admiring Emma Frost’s secondary Mutation as she deflects Wanda’s attacks by turning her body into diamond. 

“Incoming!” a young, male voice shouts and Steve ducks, shielding the yellow-skinned little girl he is trying to evacuate with his shield as a jet of fire shoots past them and is partially deflected by the shield. 

Steve looks up in time to see Johnny Storm aka Human Torch fly past them, pursuing a teenaged boy whom Steve remembers from the Brotherhood file as Pyro. 

“I’ll take her off your hands, Captain,” a Secret Service agent says when Steve and the girl reach the outskirts of the battlefield. 

Steve moves to shift the girl off his hip and into the spread hands of the agent when he recognizes the man as Agent Darrow – whom Steve passed not five minutes ago in an entirely different corner of Central Park. 

The realization must have shown on his face for the impostor attacks, aiming a low kick at Steve’s feet. He jumps out of the way, deflects a jab with the shield and catches the shapeshifter in the jaw with his next swipe, sending him spiraling to the ground where his body changes… into the blue-scaled exterior of Mystique, second only to Emma Frost among the Brotherhood’s most dangerous assets. 

“See, little girl? I’m just like you. You should come with us – we’ll value what makes you different instead of stifling it,” Mystique says, addressing the girl whose eyes have widened. The grip of her small hands on Steve’s uniform has tightened, however. 

“This young lady has a loving family,” Steve tells the shapeshifter, then takes off in a sprint towards the crowd of people near Fifth and 104th. 

Mystique turns out to be an immensely skilled fighter, even managing to give Steve a black eye after his cowl is lost to the park. Granted, Steve might have been slightly distracted by the sight of Iron Man fighting Riptide, who can conjure up hurricanes the size of miniature Christmas trees. 

Steve eventually lands a blow to Mystique’s side and feels her ribs break from the force of it. She cries out in pain but blocks Steve’s next hit, then executes a back-flip with a high-kick that connects with Steve’s temples and sends him to the ground. 

The ensuing sense of disorientation is brief but ample time for Mystique to beat a retreat. 

“Avengers, report!” he barks, listening to a series of tense updates from those engaged in combat. 

“Just got the last cleared from the Center, Cap,” Clint informs him. “Want me to head back into the park or help out here?”

“Stay there, help with the crowd,” Steve decides, before Falcon warns them of Shockwave – for lack of a better name for the scantily clad androgynous Mutant – heading towards Iron Man and Riptide. 

“No problem-o, bird brain,” Tony quips, earning him a stern “Iron Man!” from Steve because communication protocols exist for a reason and they should reflect mutual respect, no matter how much Tony craves to lighten the mood. 

_BAM!_

“What the –” is as far as Steve gets before his blood freezes in his veins. 

Shockwave has not only reached Iron Man and Riptide, she has also sent another shockwave their way, only this time it’s different somehow, connecting with the Iron Man armor and just… disassembling it. 

The world seems to slow down as Tony’s body begins its descent from several hundred feet above the park and Steve barely registers the voices of Vision and Wanda who are confirming they are close enough to intervene. 

Time returns to full-speed when Vision tackles Riptide, cutting off the hurricanes he was about to release, though Steve remains rooted to the spot as Wanda gets there just in time to slow Tony’s trajectory. 

Then he takes off in a run. 

“Scarlet Witch, report!” 

“Stark is alive,” Wanda says, her voice tense. Steve wishes Tony still had an earpiece. “I was able to dampen his fall.”

“Injuries?”

“Possibly.”

Which is when Bucky transmits, “They are retreating!” and Steve stops, whirling around in a circle to check. Indeed, the soldiers of the Brotherhood are pulling back, one by one teleported off by Azazel with Pyro setting one last fire to a group of trees. 

“Avengers, proceed with evacuation. Winter Soldier – time for a lullaby. Scarlet Witch, stay put; I’m on my way.”

A chorus of “Aye!”s follows his orders and Steve sees his team disperse to scour the park for those in need of help. The few minutes it takes him to reach the far West end of the park seem to last an eternity, though eventually he finds Wanda kneeling next to Tony, who is lying on his back and whose face is twisted in pain as his teammate is wrapping his arms in a layer of red energy. 

The source of Tony’s agony quickly becomes apparent – he must have stopped his fall with his arms, which broke on impact. Steve has seen open fractures before but never on the person he loves. He never wanted to know what Tony’s radius or ulna look like. 

“I’m here, Tony,” Steve pants, not patient enough to wait until he catches his breath and dropping to his knees next to him. 

“I will get medical attention,” Wanda suggests, leaving after a short nod from Steve. 

Tony’s eyes are still squeezed shut, but his lips twist into a smile. 

“Hear that, love? Help is on the way.”

“I’ll put their kids through college if they give me the strongest pain killers they got right away,” Tony groans, attempting to sit up. Steve helps with an arm behind the man’s back, keeping it there when he feels Tony tremble through the protective under armor.

“Don’t ever do something like this again, Tony.”

The other man coughs, though it could have been intended as a chuckle. “This might come as a surprise for you, Capsicle, but falling to the ground from a thousand feet without the suit was not on my to do list today.”

Steve’s answering remark dies in his throat when Tony finally opens his eyes and he can see the exact same sentiment reflected back at him. _This could have been it._ Tony would have died if Wanda had not reached him in time or managed to cushion his fall. 

Steve swoops in without a moment’s hesitation, covering Tony’s lips with his own and shifting closer, mindful of Tony’s injured arms in front of his chest. His right hand grips Tony’s left hipbone, his left tightens on the man’s shoulder and they probably present an incredibly corny image but there’s no room for caring right now. All Steve cares about is making sure the man he loves is alive. 

*

_BREAKING: PICTURE SHOWS CAPTAIN AMERICA AND IRON MAN KISSING!_

*

_JUST IN: POST-BATTLE MAKE-OUT SESSION BETWEEN ROGERS AND STARK_

*

_ROGERS AND STARK OUTED AS COUPLE AFTER BATTLE OF CENTEAL PARK_

*

_05/21/2016, 6.38pm EST_  
_www.pinknews.co.uk_

_RAINBOW-SPANGLED MAN? Steve Rogers caught on camera mid-kiss with Tony Stark_

_The world is still reeling from the devastating attack on the Mutant Equality Day celebration in Central Park that occurred this afternoon, which killed eight and injured many more._  
_A mere three hours after the Brotherhood of Mutants was defeated into retreat thanks to the combined forces of the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, and individual Mutants, another item of news exploded across the internet: At 6.02pm EST, People Magazine published a picture on their website that clearly shows Captain America kissing a very injured Tony Stark._  
_According to the photographer’s statement, he was hiding near the Western edge of Central Park and trying to capture photos of the fight when an enemy Mutant disabled Iron Man’s suit, which ejected Tony Stark at a height of several hundred feet. Thanks to the intervention of Scarlet Witch, Tony Stark’s injuries remained limited (the picture partially shows a compound fracture in his left forearm)._  
_Upon reaching his teammate, Captain America immediately knelt beside Stark and kissed him after a brief exchange, People cites the photographer._  
_Many on the web have voiced harsh criticism regarding People Magazine effectively outing Captain Rogers and Tony Stark’s relationship against their will. Rumor has it that Mr. Stark is still undergoing surgery at the Avengers Facility in upstate New York. No official statement has been issued as of the publication of this article._  
_Nevertheless, PinkNews would like to extend its sincerest congratulations to Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark._

* [tweets](http://jayez-fics.tumblr.com/post/132430828689/tweets-featured-in-paved-with-good-intentions)*

 **CEO Virginia Potts** @PepperPotts · May 21  
What a moving picture, despite the body horror. Congratulations, Steve and @IronMan! I am so happy for you. #NoMoreHidingFromThePress

RETWEETS FAVOURITES  
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7:03 PM - 21 May 2016 · Details  
___

 **Black Widow** @AgentRomanoff · May 21  
@PepperPotts Maybe now our favorite fossil will finally join social media. #Stony

  **Wanda M.** @Scarlet_Witch · May 21  
@AgentRomanoff A futile endeavor. The Captain’s mind is set. 

  **Road Runner** @Quicksilver · May 21  
@AgentRomanoff @Scarlet_Witch Am I the only one who thinks a Cap-free twitter is a good thing?

    **Hawkeye** @WorldsGreatestMarksman · May 21  
@Quicksilver No ur not!

    **Road Runner** @Quicksilver · May 21  
@ WorldsGreatestMarksman ( ¬‿¬)

  **Sam Wilson** @Dat_Falcon · May 21  
@AgentRomanoff Not even surprised u know the ship name dude 

**Hawkeye** @WorldsGreatestMarksman · May 21  
@PepperPotts @AgentRomanoff @Dat_Falcon #Stony could make joint account  & annoy us w/ cheesy couple pics

  **Black Widow** @AgentRomanoff · May 21  
@WorldsGreatestMarksman No.

  **Sam Wilson** @Dat_Falcon · May 21  
@WorldsGreatestMarksman no!! why put that even out there bro??

 **Bucky Barnes** @HowlingCommando · May 21  
I’m totally with you, @PepperPotts. Will reply to others VERBALLY. U know, bc we’re in the same building… 

  **Road Runner** @Quicksilver · May 21  
@HowlingCommando @AgentRomanoff @Scarlet_Witch @Dat_Falcon @WorldsGreatestMarksman U need some ice with that burn?

    **Hawkeye** @WorldsGreatestMarksman · May 21  
@Quicksilver ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

      **Black Widow** @AgentRomanoff · May 21  
@WorldsGreatestMarksman We banned that atrocity. Your punishment: dealing w/@IronMan when he comes out of anesthesia  & wants ice cream.

        **Hawkeye** @WorldsGreatestMarksman · May 21  
@AgentRomanoff After today we all need ice cream. 

        **Sam Wilson** @Dat_Falcon · May 21  
@AgentRomanoff @WorldsGreatestMarksman True that! 

        **Bucky Barnes** @HowlingCommando · May 21  
@AgentRomanoff @WorldsGreatestMarksman @Dat_Falcon Guys srly stop b4 our PR team @Avengers takes away our social media privileges again!

*

 **Colonel Rhodes (War Machine)** @JRhodes · May 21  
Well said, @PepperPotts. So happy to see my best friend found Mr. Right. Or is that Captain Right? 

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7:15 PM - 21 May 2016 · Details

*

_Pre-order Monday’s issue of People to secure an exclusive ten-page spread on the battle of Central Park, plus a four-page spread on Rogers and Stark’s secret romance!_

*

“Make sure to place it _exactly_ where the schematics say,” Tony insists for the third time.

He can’t see Helen Cho’s face, though he’s pretty sure she’s glaring at him. _Right._ Maybe he shouldn’t bug her when she’s wrist deep inside him and attaching microchips to his recently glued-together bones. Yes, seriously – bone-glue, not yet FDA-approved, latest thing SI medical research spat out. That’s what happens when you let Bruce loose on Helen’s cradle armed with the world’s latest results of bioengineering research…

“No, lower!” Tony protests, squinting at the image on the screen above his face. He can’t really shift since he is firmly strapped to the operating table, and no matter how much he’d love to do this himself, his arms have gone numb due to the local anesthesia.

“Tony, the chip is exactly where your schematics say it needs to go.”

As if to prove Helen’s point, J.J. juxtaposes the life feed of the operation (how his bones look without any flesh or skin to cover them is something Tony never actually needed to know about himself) with the plans he drew up not long ago.

“Yeah, fine, but my gut’s telling me it’s got to be lower.”

“Too bad your gut hasn’t been anesthetized,” Helen grumbles under her breath, yet she does as instructed until Tony is satisfied, repeats that with chip number two, then moves onto the other arm while her assistants close up Tony’s right forearm enough to speed up the cradle’s process. 

After all, he can’t be gone for too long since, uh, the team’s doesn’t really know about this project. With the exception of Bruce, ‘cos Tony had to make sure his calculations were sound. And, you know, that there’s no risk of creating another murderbot. It’s only been a few days since he got the basic math and physics of it right, and Helen’s only agreed to it on Thursday, plus seriously, two open fractures exactly where the sensors need to go? If that ain’t fate, Tony’s got no idea what is. 

“Your bones seem to be taking to the devices well enough,” Helen concludes once both chips have been attached to Tony’s liking. 

“They’d better! They’re partially me! Or well, organic material derived from me. Was a bitch to work with, I’m telling ya.”

“Uh,” one of the assistants says, clearing her throat. “What exactly are they for?”

Tony grins at the screen in front of him, delighted when J.J. anticipates his actions and blows up the three-dimensional images of a stylized Tony with four pulsating red dots where the chips are currently snuggling up to his skeleton. 

“The idea is to have those babies summon my suit, by using nothing more than a thought. So I’ll be able to control the armor like a hand or a foot. So far only the gauntlets are gonna come, but there’s a protocol that’ll have the rest follow. Once I’ve worked out the kinks, I’ll design more chips and have Helen here cheerfully scatter them inside of me.”

“He makes it sound rather uncoordinated,” Helen admonishes, and the hologram changes to indicate the specific point where the devices need to go, at least according to preliminary research. 

“Wow,” the assistant whispers, and Tony feels his chest swell with pride. 

“Well, it’s a step in the right direction. One day we’ll have nanotech capable of hiding my entire suit underneath my skin and I’ll be able to control it with my mind.”

“See if I’ll still help you then,” Helen says, walking around the operating table. “Not sure if I want to take the risks involved.”

“It’s science! Where’d be the fun without a little risk?”

The doctor smirks, though doesn’t reply, and soon thereafter Tony once again takes up residence within the cradle and lets the thing work its magic. Okay, not magic. Work its science, ‘cos there’s nothing magical about replicating skin cells and applying them to open wounds which close in a matter of minutes. 

Helen thankfully played along with his cover of general anesthesia, which means it’s all right when it takes him a little longer than strictly necessary to emerge from the medical wing. And yes, Tony’s gonna fill in everyone as soon as he got to test the new tech and calibrate it and maybe extend the trial to his lower extremities… 

Ey, it’s not like it’s the only secret he’s keeping! He just doesn’t see the sense in telling the Avengers about how SHIELD has hired General Ross as a consultant for reasons Tony still hasn’t figured out, or about those power-draining handcuffs Director Coulson asked him to engineer – oh, Tony should maybe reply to Hill’s emails on the subject at some point in the future and stop delaying his decision about whether or not he is actually going to manufacture them… 

“Sir, Ms. Potts has asked for you to call her as soon as possible. It is a matter of grave importance.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at the nearest control panel, which is already displaying a green call button, so Tony hastily pulls out his headset from his hoodie pocket and waits for Peps to pick up, proceeding on his way down the corridor. 

“Tony, oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah! Why shouldn’t I be? So I got up close and cozy with my radius and ulna, big deal…”

“It looked painful.”

“’Course it’s painful! Wait – what do you mean, _looked_?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you near a screen?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that? Who do you think I am?” Tony asks, genuinely appalled, ‘cos hello! Tony Stark here. He has his phone out which thankfully was inside the pile of clothes someone left for him in medical. Maybe Steve, but he probably had to do the whole press conference dance in New York… 

The moment Tony’s fingers touch the phone’s screen, however, J.J. takes over and projects a series of articles and tweets into the air. At the center of it all lies one unmistakable photo that shows –

“People Magazine posted this a little over an hour ago,” Pepper goes on. “The photographer took more, but they’re sitting on them for their next issues. Some stupid high school dropout with a camera and no respect for privacy saw your interaction. I’ve already spoken to our lawyers, but –”

“I know, I know… Well, not my most flattering photo, is it?”

Pepper sighs in that way that means she’d rather bury her head in her hands but social norms or some such nonsense are holding her back. “No. Though it’s what we have. Mike has approximately seven hundred alternative strategies of how to handle this, and you and Steve will need to talk to him tonight, you hear me? No getting out of this one.”

“But Peps –”

“No, this is pressing, Tony. Our stock fell four points in the last hour; I do not want that number to grow.”

“Only four? What the hell happened?”

“You and Steve did help save the President, Tony. Also, I might have tweeted something favorable.”

“Ohhh, that I need to – thanks, J.” The tweet and reply thread in question appears in front of him and he can’t help but laugh at the team (or those with Twitter accounts) squabble in the reply section. “No more hiding from the press, indeed… What’s the fallout?”

“I haven’t seen enough to answer that. I’m not your assistant anymore, Tony.”

“Sorry.”

“Mike is going to fill you in later. Now go; kiss your boyfriend. I hear he’s back from the debriefing with the Secret Service.”

“You make the best suggestions,” Tony tells her, rounding a corner near the Avengers’ quarters. 

“Don’t I know it,” she teases, and they say their goodbyes. 

Tony comes to a halt after the dial tone rings, blinking at the cluster of articles and blog entries and what the hell else in front of him. It’s finally really dawning on him – the world knows. Steve and he are out. 

*

Mike, in his infinite wisdom, has even taken it upon himself to travel to the Avengers facility, which means the guy’s in the communal living area along with, well, the rest of the team. 

Steve is in Tony’s space before he can so much as blink, gingerly caressing the skin spanning his forearms which only hours ago was broken by his fractured bones. 

“I’m fine, Steve,” Tony assures him, and watches the man’s shoulder’s sag in obvious relief. 

“I know, I just…”

“Yeah, I saw the picture – inside out really ain’t a good look on me.”

Rhodey steps up next to them, positively glaring. “Never do that again, Tones, you hear me?” Then he pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Ey, it wasn’t like I woke up today and thought, what’s a fun way to end the day? You know what, let’s let some strange Mutant shockwave the suit off my body a couple hundred feet above the ground and let’s crash to the –”

“We get it,” Clint cuts in as Rhodey releases him, “stop being a dick.”

Tony pouts at that, though only for a moment until Steve pulls him close to his chest. Tony rests his head on Steve’s firm shoulder, taking a shaky breath. No matter how carefree he might act, for a moment there he thought it might be the end of him. 

He makes sure to thank Wanda profusely for her swift save, and she just smiles at him, all warm and fuzzy and ‘we’re a team’, and Tony can’t help the warmth that spreads in his chest. 

“So,” Mike finally speaks up, “the sooner we get to it, the sooner I can stop intruding on your space.” 

“Yeah, I’m surprised you even got in here.”

“I allowed it,” Steve explains, and the three of them group around the kitchen island while the rest of the team pretends not to be eavesdropping. 

Mike, being the perfectionist busybody that he is, has come prepared, spreading out holograms of articles, tweets, blogs, Tumblr posts, Instagram pics, and what have you, briefly summarizing the reactions that have surfaced so far. 

“It’s basically what we expected – religious fanatics brandishing Bible verses, conservatives calling for Steve to resign as Captain America, the exact same dance as in 2013 when you forbade the Baptist Church from using your shield on their signs and propaganda material. Eighty-five percent, I’d say, has been positive, though. Tony, you might think about favoriting a few Tweets in the next twenty-four hours, no matter how we proceed.”

“What are our options?” Steve asks, wearing his Captain America expression that’s usually reserved for mission planning. 

Mike answers without missing a beat. “For one, we promised Lucia Muños an exclusive, and she already called. I’d suggest scheduling the interview for Tuesday after your training session with the SHIELD recruits. Given your dislike of talking about your private life with the press, we’re going to limit that interview to thirty minutes, and you and Tony should decide prior to that day how much you want to tell her. I’ve prepared a list of angles she would like to cover and forwarded it to you. Please talk it over together and let me know which aspects are fine and which aren’t.”

Tony nods along with the speech, having expected nothing else. Steve has pulled the projection of the document towards him and is scanning it with scary speed. 

“I take it I can’t veto everything intimate?”

Mike turns his palms out. “I’m afraid not. But you can keep it vague.”

“We are not talking about our sex life!” Steve exclaims then, and Tony isn’t the only one in the room who laughs out of a total lack of surprise. “Why would she even want to ask that?”

“Juicy details, honey,” Tony purrs. “Anything that’d make for a good scandal.”

“Too bad she doesn’t know how boringly vanilla you guys are!” Clint calls from the love seat where he’s making out with Pietro. 

“You’re just jealous ‘cos I manage to satisfy my superhuman boyfriend without resorting to cock cages, Barton!”

The way Steve’s eyes cross at that mental image and how Wanda chokes on her soda or how Rhodey groans are totally worth the coin Clint found in his pocket and throws at him with unrelenting accuracy. 

Mike clears his throat. “TMI aside, she doesn’t expect much since I already disillusioned her. Give her the basic outline of how you got together; Steve, maybe open up a bit about your sexuality – nothing major, just a general impression of how long you have been interested in men and so forth. She will bring a photographer, too, so wear something nice.”

“I take it my harness is out of the question?” Tony quips, though Mike ignores him. Probably for the best. 

“Muños said they want to publish it on Friday, but we need to react prior to that. The most low-key way I can think of is tweeting a picture of the two of you via Tony’s account, preferably tomorrow so we’ll take some wind out of People Magazine’s sails.”

Tony agrees and then spends the next ten minutes arguing with Steve over which kind of picture they should post. 

Nat ambles over from the living room at one point to get a drink from the fridge. She turns and raises an eyebrow at them. “Just snap a selfie while he’s sleeping tomorrow morning and be done with it.”

Tony immediately falls in love with the idea and after another five minutes of convincing Steve why it’s awesome (‘cos everyone will expect some cheesy kiss-pic or a really official looking thing, or even a press conference which never even made Mike’s list since Steve would never ever convene a press conference just to say ‘Yes, I am dating Tony Stark’ – abuse of resources, yada yada yada – and besides, Steve wouldn’t even need to participate, just give prior consent). 

“Fine,” he eventually agrees. “But make sure it looks good.”

“I’ll wake you right after and get you to sign off on it, princess,” Tony promises with a grin and steals another kiss.

It would have been the perfect end to that particular meeting if Mike hadn’t tried to get them to go on Ellen the week after. Steve vetoed it, obviously, but then Mike showed him all the emails and posts and whatnot from kids and even adults who’ve come out to their friends and families in the wake of their leaked picture…. 

“You are two highly visible public figures. People look up to you. You being out is a giant stamp of approval, and people feel that. You could give them hope, drive home the point that it’s not who you love, it’s how you love –”

“I think you had him at that family photo from Texas,” Tony interjects, ‘cos Steve’s body language is transmitting how much Mike’s pushing his buttons loud and clear right now. 

The photo in question has been making the rounds online and shows two very clichéd Texan parents in tears while hugging their daughter, who’s also crying. It’s captioned with “Finally out of the closet – and it’s okay. Thank you, #Stony.”

Tony gotta admit, even his throat tightened. 

“One interview,” Steve accepts, and Tony grins. Mike just sighs and flees the facility, probably thanking whatever Gods he made sacrifices to in order to facilitate his job. 

*

_05/22/2016 – Last Week Tonight_

_[laughter] But enough about depressing current events! Let’s talk about… Stones! [laughter] Wait, I misread. Stony? What the heck is a Stony? Sounds like a Rolling Stones fan who’s puffed a few too many…_

*

 **Tony Stark** @IronMan · May 22  
That pic was horrible, srsly! Here, have a selfie of me in bed with #SleepyCap. If it ain’t trending in an hour, we’ll never do joint interviews for y’all. 

RETWEETS FAVOURITES  
4,967,833 3,214,636

7:32 AM – 22 May 2016 · Details

 

*

Clint has never denied being a nosy bastard, so it really shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone when he plants a bug near the sitting area where Cap and Stark are going to talk to that reporter. 

“I cleared it with Steve, I swear! You think I got a death wish?” he assures Sam when he tells him to bring popcorn. 

“But you didn’t tell Tones, did you?”

“Nope, Rhodey. People who hack my boyfriend’s shipping orders don’t get that courtesy,” Clint shoots back, pecking Pietro on the cheek as he retrieves a beer from the fridge. 

The bug includes a camera that transmits the feed right to the flat screen in the Avengers’ living room. Vision is reading at the kitchen island and pretending not to be interested, but Clint leaves him to it with a wink that the android answers with a glint in his eyes. Sam is distributing popcorn on the coffee tables while Rhodey is getting drinks ready so that everything is set once the rest gets here. 

“The Captain actually agreed?” Clint hears Wanda asking as she and Nat approach the room. 

“Yup,” Nat replies, waving at everyone as they pass through the doorframe. “I’m not sure he thinks we’d actually go through with it, though.”

“After the Epic Prank War of 2014?” Clint scoffs. “You’d think the guy’s faith in human decency woulda crumbled by now.”

“Nah, it’s like a law of physics,” Bucky cuts in, freshly showered after two hours spent with a band of SHIELD recruits and the man in question. 

“That Prank War was when you replaced all coffee in the tower with decaf, right?” Pietro asks when Clint reaches the loveseat. 

Clint smirks. “Oh yeah.”

“How did Tony react?” 

Clint looks up to where Carol and Bruce have joined them. He likes that the Colonel has finally stopped slipping into calling them ‘Mister’ or ‘Agent’ when they aren’t doing official SHIELD business. 

“Ah, as you’d expect,” Clint begins, but before he can offer Carol anything, Rhodey is already on his feet, getting the woman a soda since for some reason the guy seems to know all about the woman’s beverage of choice when kicking back. 

Clint shakes his head. Tony is Rhodey’s bro, he’s gonna deal with that. 

Bruce, meanwhile, is wearing a nostalgic expression, lips curled into a smile. “I remember. He exchanged all your arrows for ones filled with paint. Still harmful to bad guys, just much more colorful.”

Pietro laughs so hard he falls off the sofa. “Please tell me there are pictures!”

“Oh yeah,” Nat assures him and all right, enough of that. 

“Sit down, guys,” Clint grumbles, “or we’re gonna miss the interview.”

Everyone finds a seat, grabs popcorn, and settles into what Clint hoped would be a hilarious interview between the journalist who upset Captain America and the world’s newest power couple. 

Don’t get him wrong, it’s pretty funny; especially the way Steve and Tony are obviously trying to keep the PDA to a minimum and failing epically. But they’re also adorable and charming and Steve talks about “also fancying lads” in the 30s, and Tony actually admits to thinking Steve asking him out was a hallucination, and only the cheerful atmosphere in the living room keeps the “awwwws” mocking instead of heartfelt. 

Steve also explains why he didn’t ‘come out’ back in 2013 when he actually convened a press conference to tell the Baptist Church to stop using his shield on their hateful banners, something Clint’s asked the guy himself recently.  
“I didn’t come out then, so to speak, because it wasn’t just about orientation,” Steve tells Muños. “They distorted what Captain America signified to use it for spreading their own hate, and I needed to put a stop to it. And back then I wasn’t used to the media attention, so I didn’t realize what an impact it might have had, if I had said I also fancy lads.”  
“Dude’s really making up for it now,” Sam comments. “You know they already got requests for a bunch ‘o Prides, the Disney Gay Days, and the Thanksgiving Parade?”

Nat chuckles. “I’m sure Stark could give Steve’s uniform a rainbow paint job.”

“God no, please don’t suggest that,” Rhodey protests dramatically. “He might actually do that.”

“Don’t worry, I can veto that,” Carol soothes him, patting his shoulder. 

Sam, Nat, Bruce and Clint exchange heavy glances. 

On the feed, Muños is wondering why Tony, who’s never hidden his dates (especially in his ‘wild twenties’ as Clint has learnt the media calls them and whose pictures have shown Clint more of Tony than he ever really wanted to see), has kept this relationship secret for so long. 

“I guess it’s reordered priorities again,” Tony replies with a shrug that probably comes across as flippant to anyone not the team. “I’ve grown up giving interviews and I’m used to the whole media circus, but Steve isn’t. We didn’t want that pressure, you know, all those eyes on us. We aren’t ashamed, but we both wanted this to work, which would have been complicated if every single person on the planet had known about it.”  
Steve’s clearly still peeved by the way journalists have turned into vultures in the past 80 years, but he explains how they decided to actively hide until the Launch Fair, which of course prompts Tony to sneer, “It’s hilarious how long we’ve made it after February ‘till some punk with a camera was at the right place at the right time. I mean, we’ve been on dates in the city, you’d figure someone would’ve recognized us, but nope.”

“They visited some stuffy museums, ‘course no one recognized the fossil among its natives,” Nat quips and Pietro laughs where he is pressed against Clint’s side. 

On screen Steve makes it clear that he won’t be answering private questions at official Avengers or SHIELD press conferences, and after some bickering over Tony taking Steve to a game now that they’re out, the photographer takes a few shots. It’s hilarious, because for Tony posing for pics is obviously second nature while Steve shifts uncomfortably. 

“For such a photogenic man he’s really bad at that,” Carol says, voicing what everyone is hiding behind modest cackling. 

“Oh, you got no idea,” Bucky chimes in, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I got no idea how he pulled off those films before he started fighting for real. One time there’s this reporter while we’re prepping for a raid, and Stevie cost the magazine a hell of a lot of film. We gave him shit for weeks after that.”

Just then, Wanda coos, and everyone turns towards the screen where apparently Steve and Tony are bickering again, with Tony gesturing in his mad genius scientist way. The Cap’s gaze is so in love it’s cavity inducing. 

Clint says as much and gets a cushion thrown at him from Falcon. 

“I think what Sam means,” Pietro purrs into his ear, “is that you are sitting in a glass house and should leave the stones alone.”

And he tries to resist, he really does, but in the end Clint decides, fuck it, and turns his head to shut the kid up with a kiss to the catcalls of the rest of the team and Rhodey’s shouts for a PDA jar. 

“You know, like a swear jar, just you pay up when you’re subjecting us to ‘cavity-inducing’ stuff like that.”

Clint can hear the quotation marks even though his brain’s a little distracted right now by the way Pietro’s teeth are scraping across his bottom lip. 

“You’re just jealous newspapers ain’t lining up to do a cover story on you, bro,” Sam points out. 

“Oh, believe me, I don’t need that attention.”

“So I shouldn’t mention the many requests for an Avengers calendar?” Carol says, and now everyone’s perking up. 

“Like, uh, those firemen calendars Tony put up at the tower once?” Bruce wonders, and damn, Clint’s been doing a wonderful job of forgetting that ever happened. Another event of the Epic Prank War of 2014.

“Oh, requests vary. From civilian clothes, to uniforms, to nude photography,” Carol explains. “It would be for charity but as far as I know, the PR teams don’t want to open that particular can of worms.”

Of course that’s the moment Steve and Tony join them. 

“And rob the world of Cap in his birthday suit with nothing but an American flag to cover his little Captain?”

“Tones, I swear to god –”

“Come on! Carol’s ball was too good to pass up. Wait, what’re you guys – is that where we had the interview?”

Clint buries his face in Pietro’s chest to hide the guilty smirk he simply can’t help. Of course Tony immediately zeros in on him and only Steve’s innocent “But you spied on his mail orders,” with a dose of batting eyelashes saves Clint’s hide… and the facility from witnessing another prank war, probably. 

Carol stays for dinner, which Tony spends suggesting poses for the calendar and successfully traumatizing everyone on the table once Pietro joins in like the little shit that he is. 

Well, he can’t really complain too much because all the imagining Clint doing erotic photo shoots with nothing but his bow has Pietro whisk him away as soon as dinner is over, strip him bare and spread him out over the mattress, lips wrapped around his cock before Clint’s even half hard. 

It’s almost too much, too fast, but the way Clint comes down Pietro’s throat in record time can’t hide how much he loved this.

Later, when Pietro is tracing nondescript patterns into Clint’s right pectoral with his head resting on his left, Clint clears his throat awkwardly. 

“I wouldn’t like it.”

“Hm?” 

He can feel Pietro’s questioning gaze on him but he keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “You, posing for one of those calendars. I know it’s selfish, but… you’re mine, and I don’t want to share you with anyone.”

Clint swallows, cursing himself. He should have kept that to himself, stupid – 

Though Pietro places a kiss right above his heart. “I love you too, ljubavi,” he whispers, and Clint’s heart skips a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* Boys… 
> 
> The chapter was supposed to end with the article, but even after four re-writes it didn’t sit right with me. I still ended up liking it too much to just delete it, so I’ll put it up on Tumblr for those interested! [[link to the article](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/post/132429455914/lovers-in-arms-steve-rogers-and-tony-stark-open)] [[link to the tweets](http://jayez-fics.tumblr.com/post/132430828689/tweets-featured-in-paved-with-good-intentions)]
> 
> Sebastian Shaw will make another appearance, ye be warned… And I made the mistake of googling images of compound fractures. Trust me. Don’t.


	16. Ville D’Amour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author is keenly aware of the number of Sherlock references in this fic. The author regrets nothing :) 
> 
> However, I do apologize if this chapter is a little, uh, messy? I swear this is the fifth draft and I’m still not 100% happy. It’s probably due to the great amount of time I’m covering here. Or the many birthdays. But it’s long (seriously, 10k await you!) and there are a lot of happy team moments! And angst! And a resolution of the angst! So bear with me, all right?

Mike, as far as Tony can tell, is pretty happy with Muños’ article. The NYT nagged a bit about how few juicy details they got, but they know better than to actually request them, contrary to the rest of the world. Tony has lost count of the number of Tweets he receives per hour wanting to know things. He replies selectively and only after conferring with Steve, sometimes even posts a picture and enjoys the banter that always starts in the reply threads among the other Avengers. 

Steve narrows his eyes at them on Saturday night while Bruce fixes them all with a judging gaze and the rest just giggle at Pietro’s latest reply. 

“You could all just talk to each other. Wouldn’t that be swell?” 

“We do that every day,” Nat says, somehow miraculously still maintaining a straight face. 

Steve throws up his hands without letting go of the spatula he is using to turn the steaks. “Why do people think it’s so great that I cook?” 

“Beats me,” Bruce comments with a shrug, and returns to stirring whatever he is conjuring up as a side dish. 

“So Stark,” Wanda says, drawing Tony’s attention away from Steve’s broad back. “Are you going to celebrate your birthday tomorrow alone or did the mail lose our invitations?”

“Which invitations?”

“For your birthday party!” Pietro replies. “She wants to dress up and dance.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow in silent agreement. Tony can practically _hear_ the coin inside his head drop as several things suddenly add up and he face palms with a vengeance. “That’s why there’s so many packages and envelopes this week!”

“Did you seriously forget your birthday?” Bruce wonders, shaking his head minutely ‘cos yeah, the answer is pretty much self-evident. 

“What can I say? I was busy.”

“Doing what?” Sam wants to know. 

“Probably Steve.” Bucky says and then the two are laughing and exchanging high-fives. 

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “To think the UN actually trusts us with protecting the world is appalling.”

“Yeah, like you never need a break from being all serious, brother.”

“I do, and I chose to spend it with quality television.”

Barnes snorts. “And two hopelessly in love detectives are different from two hopelessly in love Avengers _how_ , exactly?”

Tony throws a napkin at the Robo-Venger ‘cos he’s a lot hotter than that British Sherlock actor any day, and he’s not even daring to compare that other guy to Steve in his mind. 

“Back to the party,” Wanda announces, crossing her arms and staring at Tony expectantly. 

“I guess I can throw something together. Or J.J. – you listening?”

“Always, sir.”

“Wanda wants to dance at a party tomorrow. Whatever shall we do?”

“Ms. Potts and Captain Rogers have already spoken with the kitchen staff about preparing a buffet and Ms. Potts has also invited a select group of people to join sir tomorrow evening for a, as she called it, ‘laid-back affair’. Do you wish to intervene with plans of your o-”

“No, no, no, that’s fine! So Peps played assistant, huh?”

“According to my data, it was Captain Rogers’ idea. Ms. Potts offered her expertise with organizing celebrations.”

Tony can feel his grin turning dopey as he steps towards Steve and hugs the man from behind, kissing the soft spot behind Steve’s ear. “I love you.”

“It’s just a birthday party, Tony.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a nice thing to do.”

“Well, you’ve been buried in Prometheus for a week. I figured you would probably not even remember your birthday if I didn’t remind you.”

Steve isn’t wrong – Tony’s been spending every waking second modifying the arc reactor process in the hopes of making it work with a car engine. He’s so close he can taste the sweet smell of solution, _damn it_ …

Needless to say, Tony wastes most of Saturday post team-dinner in the workshop until Steve drags him to bed for pre-birthday sex, though allows Tony to return first thing Sunday morning until he calls him for birthday pancakes – ‘cos forget about milkshakes, it’s Captain America’s blueberry pancakes that bring all the boys to the yard! (… shut up, Tony’s allowed to crack stupid jokes today; it’s his birthday.)

Pepper lands early that afternoon, though Tony only sees her once he hits a dead end and abandons Project Prometheus around five. 

“Happy forty-sixth!” she says with a twinkle in her eyes that Tony reads as ‘fifty isn’t far now, is it?’

“Shush, I told everyone I’m turning thirty-eight,” he jeers, kissing her cheek and joining her, Bruce, Sam and Steve for a cup of tea. He mostly ignores his cup in favor of tearing open envelopes and making fun of birthday cards. Seriously, though, could they stop wasting the paper and just, you know, email him? A tweet would do, too. 

Clint returns earlier than usual with his entire family in tow as well as a huge cake that apparently Lila (yes, Tony isn’t completely hopeless with names) and Cooper helped make, which at least explains the very colorful icing, and before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s told to change and then they’ve all relocated to where the Christmas tree used to be, scattered around tables someone set up and raiding the buffet. 

Pepper and Steve even got a few SHIELD agents who have formed a band to play a few songs, so Wanda gets her wish, dancing with Natasha and Sam and even Bucky at one point. The latter is actually really talented, even at rhythms decidedly out of his time, which makes Tony tilt his head but his partner smile nostalgically. 

Rhodey, curiously, asks Danvers to dance, sending Tony an insistent look that’s close to begging him to shut up and not say anything in front of everyone. _Huh._ He did not see that coming, as Pietro would say. 

Tony eats too much cake, dances with his boyfriend, gives a short thank-you speech when everyone calls for one, laughs with Pepper about Clint and Pietro’s acrobatics on the dance floor, and drinks non-alcoholic punch without missing real booze too much until it’s late and people trickle into their respective beds. Tony follows Steve to theirs and huddles close to the other man. 

“Thanks for the best birthday ever,” Tony whispers, eyelids drooping. If Steve reacted in any way, he doesn’t hear it before sleep claims him. 

*

“It can’t be fucking done!” Tony shouts, throwing the wrench across the facility workshop and barely missing DUM-E, who moved into his new home two weeks ago.

The robot has been delightedly exploring the unfamiliar surroundings along with his fellow bots, yet now he chirps sadly as he picks up the wrench and whirls over to where Tony has buried his face in his hands. 

“No, I don’t need it back,” he snaps, then immediately regrets his tone when DUM-E rolls away, arm low. “I’m sorry, buddy! Okay, fine, go sulk in the corner. Good thing Steve didn’t see that…”

“Didn’t see what?” 

Speak of the devil, ugh… Tony blinks up at his partner, whose smile falls as soon as he takes in Tony’s probably really dejected posture. No use beating around the bush, then. 

“I’m a failure, Steve.”

“What happened?”

“Prometheus failed, that’s what happened. I’m out of options. I got _nothing_. Zilch. Nada. Nichts. I can’t fucking adapt the tech! What am I gonna tell Pepper, huh? She’s counting on me, the board’s counting on me, damn it, the freakin’ _world_ needs this!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Steve coos, and only a year ago Tony would’ve resisted the hug he’s being pulled into, but now he just goes with it and soaks up the much-needed comfort, head resting on Steve’s strong workout-tee-covered chest. 

_Take that, Howard,_ he thinks bitterly, only to wince at the pang in his chest that comes with the knowledge that Howard Stark would have probably solved the world’s energy crisis by now if he were still alive. 

“Whatever you’re thinking – stop,” Steve orders, voice terse. “It’ll come to you, Tony. Just give it time. Do something else for a bit.” Tony’s answering snort apparently prompts him to elaborate. “Like planning Clint’s birthday party.”

“Fuck, another birthday? How many more are there?” 

Steve chuckles while his hands continue tracing soothing patterns on Tony’s back. “One each year per Avenger.”

However, as much as he may grumble, it does give him something to focus on, so that’s good. Tony orchestrates the world’s best birthday party for the archer, making the most of the sunny June weather, and Saturday the 18th finds the entire team as well as Carol Danvers and the Barton clan outside on the facility grounds. Lila and Cooper fall in love with the enormous bouncing castle (Clint’s idea to make sure the little ones are entertained), Wanda takes several gigabytes of pictures throughout the entire day, and Nat challenges everyone to join her in the bouncing castle… which actually survives the onslaught of all Avengers, including Vision. Now that’s an image Tony will never, ever forget. 

That day also gives him an idea for Steve’s birthday three weeks later. There’s some minor incidents between now and then, but thankfully nothing AIM related. Rumlow and Ward still aren’t talking, and by now even the interrogation footage Tony hacked, showing Coulson and several other high-ranking SHIELD officials failing to extract intel, is losing its charm. 

At least Bruce has managed to figure out the cause of death of the three SI employees – or well, Jiao Chengyu’s. Fish Oil poisoning. Yup, just like in the brief Coulson handed them in February. Tony is still confused, but Bruce had that look he gets when his brain comes up with a weird theory he won’t actually voice before checking. Tony’s been helping him design an algorithm that looks for patients with similar symptoms across the US in the hopes of finding someone, _anyone_ , who survives. Maybe that’ll tell them more… 

But anyway – Steve’s birthday. It’s a Monday, which sucks, and a national holiday, which means half the team is on protection detail throughout the nation while the other half has been roped into some form of publicity stunt or other.

“We used to watch the fireworks,” Barnes explains when Tony asks him for any pointers to make the day special for Steve despite the workload. “Used to pretend they were just for him, the little punk.”

The idea’s not half-bad, so Tony makes sure Bucky and Steve both get some reprieve once the fireworks start to enjoy them together, just like old times. It earns him an incredibly soft look with a few happy tears thrown in from the giant marshmallow that is Captain Rogers, and probably a bunch of karma points. 

His actual present’s much more awesome, though: a trip to Paris. 

“Crime doesn’t take a holiday, Tony,” Steve argues once he learns of the plan. “I can’t just fly off!”

“’Course you can! Vision’s staying behind. Bruce, too – okay, that’s mostly because I couldn’t get France to allow the Hulk into their country on such short notice, but anyway – Rhodey said he’d hold down the fort with them!” 

Well, his exact words were “Oh no, Tones, there’s no way in hell I’ll spend a weekend watching you and Cap making heart-eyes at each other… I’ll stay behind with Colonel Danvers,” which earned Rhodey a very, very pointed look. Sooner or later Tony’s got to confront his best friend about what’s going on there… 

“You really telling me that War Machine, Hulk and Vision can’t handle minor incidents? That’s what you think of your teammates?”

Steve looks adequately chastised and actually hears Tony out, then finds no argument against the Avengers taking the weekend off and flying to Paris, provided they take a quinjet, their respective uniforms or suits, and their phones. Which means that the Friday after Steve’s birthday everyone except Rhodey, Bruce, and Vision but plus the Barton clan pile into their largest quinjet and exploit their supersonic speed capabilities to reach Europe in record time. 

The visit’s been cleared with both SHIELD and the French government, yet not announced to avoid undue attention. They leave early on Friday and arrive in the early afternoon with enough time for everyone to explore the city a bit. 

Tony booked them into the Hotel D’Orsay, a 17th century building and four-star hotel that’s family friendly, something J.J. had to point out since Tony almost forgot that Barton’s brood is coming with them. 

The team splits up on Saturday: Clint, Pietro, Wanda, Karen, her husband, and the kids jet off to Disneyland (something Clint hoped to avoid, apparently, but surprise, surprise – his children are able to use Google and effectively employ begging and puppy eyes). Tony tags along to the Orsay Museum and then the Louvre with the others, glad that no one expects him to actually comment on any of the paintings (or take his eyes off his tablet, for that matter – he may be on hiatus regarding Prometheus, but SI never sleeps). Ten hours later, Steve and Bucky are both grinning from ear to ear when the team sans Disney Land crew meet up for dinner at a rather small, family-run restaurant where Tony ate the last time he actually attended a conference in Paris. 

“Dinner’s on me!” he declares once they’re all seated, and everyone knows him well enough by now to nod along and not make a big deal out of it, ‘cos the pocket money he’ll spend on the meal really isn’t worth mentioning. 

Steve still grabs his hand under the table and squeezes it gently, and Tony has to fend off a blush. Well, if his boyfriend wants to see it as a generous gesture, Tony sure isn’t stopping him. 

*

Steve’s cheeks hurt from all the smiling. He fears his face will get stuck like this if he doesn’t stop soon, but he really can’t help it – he’s in Paris, with his fella, his team, and Bucky; the weather is great and neither AIM, Hydra nor the Brotherhood have ruined the holiday so far. 

Besides, the suite Tony booked them has a balcony with an amazing view, where Bucky and he are drinking decent beer from the mini bar in comfortable silence while Tony is splayed out across the futon inside the suite, cursing whoever drew up whatever schematics he is working on at the moment. 

“He’s really not that bad, is he,” Bucky says all of a sudden, and it takes Steve a moment to understand whom he’s referring to. 

When he does, his grin widens even more. “You sayin’ you approve?”

“Don’t say stupid shit, Stevie,” Bucky sneers. “I’m saying you coulda done worse.”

It’s an understatement, judging by the way the corners of Bucky’s lips are twitching, so Steve doesn’t argue. It has taken him a while to be able to read Bucky this well – he kept getting tripped up because he still recalled pre-Hydra-Bucky’s tells and quirks, yet as it turns out they aren’t identical with post-Hydra-Bucky’s. 

There is no mistaking the residual tension in the lines of his torso, though. Steve has seen Bucky fully relaxed a few times in the past months so he knows it is possible, but he figures being in a strange city having done minimal recon isn’t conductive to soothing the Winter Soldier’s nerves. 

“How are you?” he asks nevertheless. “All in all, I mean?”

His best friend doesn’t turn to look at him, just keeps staring off into the distance as he swallows. “Better. Got more good days than bad.”

Steve’s fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands as he nods. It’s either that or start another hug attack, like this afternoon at the Louvre when the scope of being in Paris with Bucky, almost 80 years later than planned, finally hit him. Not that Bucky doesn’t like hugs – Steve got the impression his friend’s actually a little touch starved – but such public displays of affection seem to make him uneasy. Something about showing weaknesses, Bucky explained once, since any enemy could see his pressure point. 

Steve clears his throat, straining his mind for a lighter topic. “You think Sam’s gonna find a dame tonight?”

It has the desired effect, and Bucky snorts. “Yeah, especially if Widow and Witch play wingmen. Wingwomen?”

“Don’t look at me, I don’t need wingmen or wingwomen.”

Bucky shrugs, taking another sip from his beer. “Well, I’m sure they’re having fun no matter if Wilson finds a skirt or not.”

Steve doesn’t doubt that. It was Wanda’s idea, seizing the chance to go dancing, and judging by Natasha’s mischievous grin, the agent really didn’t mind accompanying her. Steve has noticed in the past few weeks that the two women have started spending more and more time with each other, though he still has no idea what prompted it. He isn’t sure whether or not it is any of his business, yet either way he isn’t complaining. 

“You really could’ve gone with them, you know,” Steve says eventually, but his best friend is shaking his head even before he finished the sentence. 

“Nah, I know what dance halls turned into. Not sure I’d do so well there.” He turns around, resting his right hip on the balcony railing. “Besides, I wanted to spend time with you, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve replies out of reflex, and they share a laugh before Steve sobers up again. “You think I should do this more? I mean, give the team some time off, a chance to go out, go dancing or something?”

“We get free Sundays if we aren’t on mission.”

“Yeah, but the facility is fairly remote… I mean, it’s important to blow off steam and – what?” He stops because Bucky is fixing him with a look that clearly reads, ‘Aren’t you one dumb fella, kid’ and takes Steve back to a day in 1927 when he thought it was a good idea to stand up to Joseph Sanders. 

Bucky heaves a sigh, puts down his beer, and grabs Steve’s shoulders, making sure he’s paying attention. 

“Let me remind you of a few things, _Steven_ ,” he begins, and Steve narrows his eyes both at the serious tone and at the moniker. That one’s usually reserved for Bucky’s lectures on the way of life – or sex – and this is probably neither of those. “You listening?” 

Steve nods. 

“Everyone on the team takes time for themselves. First of all, there’s plenty to do at the facility, like those poker tournaments we went to once or twice, or those art workshops and cooking classes… And remember Bruce and Vision bowing out one afternoon to visit some lecture at that ugly-ass Baxter Building? Or Widow flying down to the city with Barton to check out that brat’s big moment at the science fair? Or Wanda going with her brother to a slumber party with his lesser half, or hell, Wilson and his nieces’ recital! I swear I’ma clock him if he plays me that video he made one more fucking time –”

“You got a point in there somewhere, Bucky?”

“I betcha I have a point!” His fingers dig into Steve’s shoulders, probably for emphasis. “I’m saying that they know they can ask if they need some personal time. They aren’t afraid or something; they know you’re gonna make it work if it’s something they need. We’re brothers in arms, Stevie. They’ll come to you when they’ve got a problem.” 

Bucky grins when Steve doesn’t reply. “What, cat got your tongue?”

Yes, as a matter of fact, because Steve can’t get anything past the lump that is clogging up his throat. His best friend seems to sense that, for his grin softens into a smile and he pulls him close, wrapping his flesh hand and the metal arm around him in one fluid motion. 

“So, you wanna tell me what this was about?” Bucky asks when they eventually pull apart. 

It takes Steve a moment to find the right words. “It’s just… Well. After Ultron, I realized that Clint hadn’t felt safe enough to tell us about his family. Thor flew off without an explanation… It just seemed like I’d failed as a leader. I’ve tried my best to learn from my mistakes this time around, but I guess I wasn’t sure that’d been successful so far.”

Bucky shoves him playfully. “You’re doing one heck of a good job, punk. But hey, if you didn’t fret so much, I’d be worried someone’s exchanged you for a life model decoy.”

“I’m sure you’d all notice that pretty quickly.”

“Depends on how, hm, _thorough_ the LMD’s been constructed,” Bucky says with a leer, and Steve laughs at the bad joke. 

Bad though it might have been, it does lighten the mood and they go back to drinking in companionable silence until Tony interrupts them by wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist from behind, burying his face between his shoulder blades with a weary groan. 

“Let me guess – illiterate technicians at SI?” Steve ventures, feeling Tony shake his head against his skin. “Overworked and clueless contractors?”

“General human stupidity,” is all his partner says, prompting a laugh from Bucky. 

He drains his beer, smirking at the pair of them. “I’ll leave you two to your perversion then.”

“You don’t have to go,” Steve begins, but Tony’s talking over him. 

“Best idea you had all day, Barnes!”

Steve turns around to glare at his boyfriend once Bucky has disappeared after patting him on the back with a grin. 

“What, you not done yet with your bromantic brooding session?”

“We weren’t brooding.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cap.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s your role.”

“Oh, snap!” Tony jeers, stepping closer so that their chests are touching. “So you wanna see how fast I can wear you out, old man?”

“I wasn’t the one who got Viagra for their birthday.”

Tony scowls at the memory. “This is why Widow can’t have nice things.”

“You upgraded her uniform just three weeks ago.”

“Doesn’t count – that’s Avengers business.”

Steve could keep up the banter and point out that Tony continuously blurs the line between Avengers business and private business, but then again he could also walk the man backwards into their hotel room, splay him out on the mattress and worship his body. 

Needless to say, he does the latter. 

*

Bruce thinks he is getting soft. Months of being stationary, of being back in a lab, sharing meals with a team and having clean, running water has dulled the constant edge of fear, of needing to be in control, of never being able to truly relax because the Other Guy is sitting right underneath the surface, waiting to break free. 

It’s not as bad anymore, though. Bruce would almost describe his state of mind as “at peace”, and for some reason that doesn’t worry him as much as it maybe should.

Bucky thinks it’s because Hulk gets out regularly; like he needs release or the tension will build up and explode out of Bruce in bouts that level entire cities. Maybe he’s right. At least once a week, the team trains with the Hulk outside within the confines of Wanda and Tony’s brainchild of a fence. By now, the transformations are almost easy on Bruce, transitions getting faster, smoother. 

Hulk has learnt to identify the members of his team, responds to Steve’s commands, and has even mastered the concept of training exercises… At one point, he also fist bumped the Winter Soldier. Bruce wouldn’t have believed that particular story if it weren’t for the photographic evidence. 

The point is that it shouldn’t hurt so much, but months as a member of the Avengers, of not being an outcast, of not being alone… Well, if he isn’t soft, he has definitely become spoiled. 

Bruce throws the covers back with a huff. Sleep won’t come, not with the images Pietro sent from Disneyland throughout the day floating around in his head. 

Bruce shouldn’t be bitter. The French have a point – allowing the Hulk into their country sounds like courting trouble. And Bruce’s chest swelled with warmth when Tony sent him a picture of Steve and Bucky in front of the Louvre, looking dazed and joyous and happy, and he laughed at the shots of Sam with Nat and Wanda on either side, captioned “Wingmen”.

Still, it hurts a little, the blatant reminder of all that will never be, that no matter how _at peace_ Bruce becomes with the Other Guy, his life will never be his own again. 

It’s four AM and the Avengers’ complex is silent in the darkness as Bruce grabs his notes and tablet and sets up shop in the communal kitchen with his back to the living room, spreading notes and tabs around him. The algorithm Tony helped design is working a bit too well, with too many results given the generic nature of the symptoms he is scanning for. 

A low chuckle from the kitchen door makes Bruce look up. 

“When the cat’s away, the mice will play, won’t they, doc?” Rhodey says, nodding at the research covering the kitchen table. The man is wearing sweatpants and a threadbare Air Force t-shirt, though his eyes are much too awake for someone who only just woke up. 

“Well, what Steve won’t know won’t hurt him.” 

One of the first rules Steve apparently established at the facility was ‘No Work In The Communal Rooms’ after Natasha constantly flooded the dining room table with files and briefs since she works better where she can mainline coffee. “Now there’s a state-of-the-art coffee machine in my office,” she had told Bruce with a glint in her eyes that made Bruce wonder whether or not it had been a long con rather than her genuinely preferring the dining room table as a work space. 

“He’s not hearing it from me, I promise,” Rhodey adds with another white-toothed grin. “I’m making coffee – you want another of those chais, doc?”

“That’d be lovely, thanks.”

The ensuing silence is not awkward, per se, but, well, it isn’t the kind of silence Bruce shares with Pietro or Bucky at this hour of the night. It’s not that the Colonel and he don’t get along, because they do – close friends of Tony Stark need to band together for maximum effect on the engineer’s health and wellbeing, and Rhodey is the only one on the team who shares Bruce’s enthusiasm for The Big Bang Theory (Tony derides it as ‘popular science’ sounding as if the concept alone is an affront to humanity). 

Despite their shared appreciation for a certain billionaire and a group of nerds and their waitressing friend, Rhodey and he don’t really run in the same subgroups. 

It is something Bruce has observed with interest in the first few months at the facility: while Steve is doing a wonderful job of ensuring team coherence, actively furthering a positive rapport between the Hulk and Scarlet Witch among many other things, they have formed, well – cliques. Not in a negative sense, though; Bruce is quite happy with how familial it all feels (or the way he always assumed family should feel like).

There is of course the Trouble Trio, as Tony called them during their debrief, but Bucky also has strong ties to Steve, obviously, and to fellow sniper and mind-control survivor Clint. The latter of course shares a profound bond with Pietro and Natasha, and he has become tight with Falcon as far as Bruce can tell. Falcon, Steve and Nat’s dynamic is a vestige of their cooperation during the Washington incident, from what Bruce has been able to gather, though Sam and Rhodey have become, as Pietro would say, BFFs as well. Wanda, while having found a parental (or brotherly) figure in their archer, also spends a lot of time with Vision and Nat. 

As for Bruce, well… he still can’t believe he has an actual social life between his own research and work, team training, talking science with Tony, consulting Vision (or talking philosophy because the android’s insights are marvelous), meditating with Pietro and sometimes Tony, failing to learn more advanced self-defense techniques from Bucky and actually attending a few symposiums here and there. 

Yes, he is definitely spoiled.

“So, doc,” Rhodey says slowly as he replaces Bruce’s cup on its coaster, filled with steaming liquid, almost as if he isn’t sure he wants to start a conversation. “What brings you to the Insomnia Brigade?”

Apparently it is rule breaking day, for there is an unspoken agreement among the Avengers that they don’t ask unless a person makes it clear they want to talk. Or if they have probable cause to believe not speaking up might be harmful in any way. 

_Oh._

“Do I look so blue?” Bruce asks wryly, intentionally getting the color wrong.

“If looks could kill, these projections would be ashes right now, man.”

“Well, good thing they’re just photons without much mass to oxidize.”

Rhodey takes a sip from his own mug, leaning against the kitchen counter to Bruce’s right, a calculating look on his face. “It’s the trip, right? I mean, I stayed behind voluntarily, but I’m sure you’da loved to see Paris, too.”

Bruce forces himself to shrug. “It’s fine. I’m a security risk Europe doesn’t want to take.”

The Colonel nods. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be pissed, doc. I know I’d be.”

“My feelings are valid? Really? That’s what you’re saying?”

The other man shrugs, grabbing the pot for a refill. “I know it’s clichéd, but maybe you need a reminder.”

Bruce tries to think of a retort, though all he comes up with sounds defensive even inside his own head. He picks up his tea instead, stroking the rim of the china with a thumb as he decides to turn the tables. 

“And what brings you here at this hour, Colonel?”

“Just some personal shit,” is the vague reply as Rhodey’s expression falls. 

“Do you want me to pat your back and say, ‘there, there’?”

The reference startles a laugh out of the man. “Oh yeah; and then you can tuck me in and sing Soft Kitty.”

“I doubt my singing would help anyone.”

“I’m afraid I gotta agree with that, doc.”

They drink their hot beverages. 

“So?”

Rhodey glances up for a moment, seemingly mulling over what to say, if anything at all. “Nah. Thanks for the offer, but I’m not at a point where talking’s gonna help.”

His tone is sincere, so Bruce accepts his decision with a nod, returning to the many, many files he has to weed through.

“What’re you working on? That about the dead SI employees?” Rhodey asks, cradling his third cup of coffee. 

“Yes, I’m checking other patients with similar symptoms who survived. But the symptoms are too generic, so I have to check each file myself, and mostly the resulting condition has nothing to do with the poisonings we are targeting.”

Rhodey surveys what he can see from his position, squinting at reports and images. “You’re looking for survivors.”

Bruce’s lips twitch. “Indeed.”

“Want some help? I got six hours ‘til I’m meeting Carol for practice.”

Over the course of the next few hours, Bruce begins to understand why Rhodey and Tony became friends at MIT. Jim’s quiet efficiency and attentive and driven nature would have both complemented and enhanced Tony’s own processes. Plus, the man never assumes anything, either in battle or in private, something that surely helped stave off the kinds of reservations Tony said his fellow students had about him back then. 

“J.J., run that again?”

Bruce stops, his fingers hovering over the screen of his tablet. “You found something?”

“Maybe.”

Bruce slips out of the chair, putting down the device and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and by the time he is next to Rhodey, the search of one Fatur Chandra from Jambi, Sumatra, is finished. 

“I apologize, Colonel Rhodey,” J.J. says. “I cannot find any trace of this man after his release from hospital.”

“So what, this guy survives Fish Oil poisoning and then just disappears?”

“Or he was disappeared,” Bruce says, elaborating at the questioningly raised eyebrow. “I think SHIELD is gathering the survivors. I can’t say why, but it’s the best explanation I’ve been able to come up with.”

“Guess we’re cross-referencing SHIELD activity near cases that match those of the SI employees, see if that narrows it down faster.”

“J.?”

“Initializing search now, Doctor Banner.”

When Carol ventures into the kitchen a few hours later, they have found three more missing survivors and Rhodey is effectively late for training. Bruce sends the guy off with a promise of breakfast for both him and Carol, and dives back into the research. 

The update from Pietro he receives a while later still stings a bit, but at least for now, the bitterness is gone. 

*

When they meet up with the rest of the Avengers for breakfast in the morning, Steve finds the satisfied grins Tony and he are sporting to be mirrored on Sam’s face. 

“Widow made a good wingman, then?” Bucky asks with a leer. 

Sam nods solemnly. “The best, dude.”

“I live to serve,” Nat deadpans, earning a bout of laughter. 

Everyone’s attention shifts to the Barton clan then, who has just entered their group’s private meal room. Lila and Cooper are bouncing around happily enough, but most adults are merely trotting after them, looking exhausted. 

“Feeling your age, Clint?” Nat wonders. 

“Bite me,” Clint shoots back, flopping down at the table. “Coffee. I need all the coffee…”

A second later there’s a full cup in front of him, courtesy of Pietro who follows it up with a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, sitting down in front of his own meal before Steve really comprehends what is happening. 

“Thanks, love.”

Wanda laughs at him from across the table. “You regret going to Disney Land?”

Words apparently aren’t enough to express how much Clint does, so he just nods with wide eyes and Steve is infinitely glad that he spent the last day scourging museums with Bucky and the others. 

Tony drains his own coffee and turns towards him, grinning broadly. “So, what’re we doing today, birthday boy?”

*

Steve spots the girl first.

Their group has reached the preliminary end of their walking tour of the city, which commenced with a very cheesy half hour at the _mur des je t’aime_ , the Love Wall in Montmartre showing 311 “I Love You”s written in 250 different languages. The team has been teasing Steve relentlessly about wanting to go there, yet somehow everyone ended up taking pictures in front of the monument before making their way southward until they stumbled upon the Champs de March at around three o’clock in the afternoon. 

It is there that they get recognized, and Hawkeye immediately sneaks away with his family while the rest pose for pictures and interact with fans from all over the globe. An hour later, Sam is talking parachuting tactics with a female Royal Air Force sergeant from England and Wanda is entertaining a group of kids along with her brother. Steve picks up on a few Russian phrases Natasha exchanges with an elderly couple from Moscow, and keeps an eye on Bucky who has apparently become the focal point of every attractive dame near the Eifel Tower. 

When Steve raises a questioning eyebrow, Bucky merely flashes a grin. It’s mostly genuine, he can tell, though the undercurrent of vigilance never leaves the Winter Soldier’s demeanor, no matter how many ladies ask for his picture. 

Then he sees it – an adorable blonde girl over where Tony is trying to resist approximately fifteen pairs of wide, innocent, pleading eyes, all begging him to get his armor to show the kids. Steve can’t really explain what makes him take a closer look, but his instincts prove right. 

He excuses himself from the madam he has been talking with, then seeks Bucky’s gaze, who, after a brief sweep of their surroundings, notices it as well – every kid in the crowd around Tony can be easily matched to a parent or an older sibling or their grandparents in the vicinity with one exception: the blonde girl. 

Bucky gives a blink-and-you-missed-it nod, extracting himself from the group of admirers just as Steve hears the MK XXI approaching, only to startle when another, eerily familiar sound cuts it off abruptly.

Several things happen in rapid succession after that: everyone’s earpieces switch on, Tony’s head whips around to see what happened to his suit; Bucky reaches the swarm of kids the moment the blonde girl changes size and color, transforming into Mystique who then kicks Tony in the head hard enough to send him to the ground before Bucky is on her, engaging her in rapid hand-to-hand combat. 

“Avengers Protocol Ville D’Amour!” Steve bellows over the coms, and the extensive preparation he invested in the run-up to their trip pays off as the team reacts as one. 

Quicksilver brings the Barton clan to safety along with the remaining children in the vicinity so that Wanda can close the protective bubble she is conjuring up. Sam activates his wings, hidden inside his backpack until now, and surges skyward while Natasha retrieves the sonic sticks from the pockets of her cargo pants and begins to evacuate the square, poised to attack any assailant coming her way. 

By now Steve has reached Tony who is grimacing in pain and waving him off. “I’m fine, go be heroic; my spare suit’s already on the way.”

Twelve members of Iron Legion, activated by the Ville D’Amour protocol, are indeed arriving on the scene. They bring Steve’s shield with them, yet he throws it to Bucky immediately who grabs it without even looking up from where Mystique has pinned him to the ground. Steve catches the suit encasing Tony one plate at a time out of the corner of his eyes, and he has a moment to wonder if he overlooked Tony taking the bracelets with him before he’s being shot at. 

“Captain Rogers,” Vision’s voice sounds over the coms ten minutes later, which was enough time for about fifteen AIM operatives as well as several Mutants to join the battle. “Permission to initialize Protocol NCC-1701.”

Steve has to duck to avoid the fist of one of his enemies before he can answer. “Only if you’re absolutely certain.”

“I am, Captain.”

“Then proceed, Vision.”

Protocol NCC-1701 is aptly named in Steve’s opinion because what it comes down to is Vision “beaming” himself somewhere else. It’s something Vision and Wanda have been working on yet so far never tried in battle. Given how the science of it is beyond him, Steve has been fairly skeptical of the project’s success, but he can’t argue with the results once Vision appears in the air above them. 

“Woah, where’d you come from, buddy?” Iron Man wonders. “How’d you get here so fast?”

“Explanations can wait,” Steve orders, coming to a halt on the grass. 

Shockwave is back, grinning evilly at him from across the square, but Steve ignores the jolt the Mutant’s sight sends through him. Tony modified the suit to withstand any further attacks, so Shockwave can bring it on. 

The sound of a metallic crash draws Steve’s attention. Apparently Falcon and the Brotherhood Mutant named Angel managed to crash into the Eiffel Tower, rattling the construction which nevertheless holds. 

“Could we please try to leave national icons in one piece?” Steve asks over the team’s channel, earning a wave of laughter. 

“Try telling that to the crook on your six, Cap,” Widow comments, and Steve ducks the salve of bullets just in time. 

Bucky is still fighting Mystique, now joined by Sabertooth, in the middle of the Champs de Mars while Wanda and Vision are battling Pyro, Riptide and Toad. Hawkeye is keeping AIM’s thugs from disrupting the protective bubble with Quicksilver flitting from civilian to civilian and bringing them to safety, lending Steve and Widow a hand every now and then. 

By now reinforcements from their French SHIELD chapter have arrived, joining the Parisian police force at the perimeter Steve ordered them to set up (they even listened, thanks to his half-way decent French). Something is wrong, however: instead of staying away from the battlefield, policemen and SHIELD agents alike walk right into the field. 

The mystery is solved moments later when Steve spies none other than Emma Frost, only second to Charles Xavier in telepathic prowess, standing ten feet away, the remnants of Azazel’s smoke wafting around her. She is an attractive woman with long blonde hair, clad in a white lady suit of all things. 

“Let these people go!” Steve yells, widening his stance. “Your quarrel isn’t with them.”

“You so sure about that, sugar?” she drawls, revealing a thick southern accent. 

“What do you want,” Steve growls, sparing a glance for Widow to his right, ready to attack the briefest gesture or command. 

“Oh, just to show the world what we’re capable off.”

Steve files that away for later analysis. “Then you’ve made your case, Frost. Release them.”

“Why would I, if I can make them do this?” she sneers, and with a turn of her head, the agents and police officers start firing at Steve and Nat. 

Quicksilver is faster, however, whisking them off to safety and positioning them in a way that Steve’s shield protects them both from any further gunfire. 

“Vision!” Steve shouts, and a heartbeat later the Avenger is there, aiming the beam of his mind stone at Frost. 

She turns into her diamond form before the yellow jet of energy can reach her, but the maneuver costs her the hold on the humans. Wanda is there immediately, enveloping them in another bubble as Frost’s agonized screams cut through the air. Steve watches her diamond shell crack and crumble, and she collapses. Widow pounces on her, cuffing her limp wrists. 

“Retreat!” Mystique yells then, slipping out of Bucky’s hold by changing into a child again before transforming into a dark-skinned, tall fella and sprinting off into Azazel’s waiting arms. 

Steve manages to wrestle one of the AIM soldiers to the ground, but Tony fails in his attempt to capture Azazel. The engineer wasn’t too sure the device he developed with Bruce would work – now they have their answer. 

Bucky throws himself on Shockwave, the last Mutant for Azazel to pick up, pinning her hands to the ground with ample space between them, but as it turns out she doesn’t need to clap them to use her powers. Bucky is catapulted off her, crashing to the ground where Steve can’t reach him in time, though Bucky intercepts his fall with his arm. He skids to a halt in a crouch several feet further down the field and Steve can breathe again. By then, Shockwave is long gone. 

*

“What happened?” 

Guillaume Culvier, the French Agent in Charge, licks his lips, eyes darting to the rest of Steve’s team gathered inside the quinjet that serves as an improvised briefing room. 

“Someone saw you at ze mur des je t’aime,” Culvier explains, the hint of an accent coloring his voice. “Zey tweeted about it. We believed zat tipped AIM off to your whereabouts.”

“You handled the situation in an exemplary manner, Captain Rogers,” the Director-General stresses, and the Minister of the Interior echoes his sentiment through the screen that displays his video feed. 

“Our preliminary report indicates only minor injuries, no casualties, and seven arrests, including that of Ms. Emma Frost,” Hill adds from another screen. “The Director is very happy with how you and your team handled the situation, Captain Rogers. He also requests the immediate extradition of Frost, sir.”

That leads to extensive political posturing with the French puffing their chests until Hill confronts them with the reality of their decided lack of facilities that would hold the Mutant. The nearest superhuman prison is in Belgium, J.J. is kind enough to tell Steve through a pop-up window on his tablet, and it would take at least a week to get permission to detain Frost there through the appropriate channels. 

At the end of the day, the Avengers get to take Frost back to America with them, and the woman spends the entire flight scowling at everyone. Steve’s mood has rarely been better. 

*

_07/10/2016_  
_EUROPE COMMENDS AVENGERS FOR PROTECTING PARIS_  
_Frank Jovovich, Hero Watch Magazine_

_The Avengers have many superpowers, and super stealth seems to be one of them: the majority of the team travelled to Paris, France, for a brief holiday without anyone finding out about it until two days after they landed in the culture capital. Unfortunately the bad guys are able to check Twitter, too, for when an Italian tourist said she spotted #Stony at the Love Wall in the 18th Arrondissement, AIM and the Brotherhood of Mutants took notice._  
_All they had to do was follow the digital trail to the Eiffel Tower, where the Avengers had finally been recognized and were busy posing for pictures until a group of Mutants launched an attack._  
_Fortunately, our beloved heroes were prepared. No one was extensively hurt, and the Avengers even succeeded in capturing Emma Frost, who is being extradited and transferred into SHIELD custody as of publication._  
_Before she was incapacitated, Emma Frost mentally controlled a large group of SHIELD agents and French policemen, which has already led to mounting support for the Superhuman Registration Act across the Pond._  
_[…]_

*

Contrary to popular opinion, Tony is capable of exerting self-restraint. Thus he waits until all official debriefings and procedures have been taken care off and everyone is safely back on the quinjet before confronting Steve and Vision. 

“Okay, one: what the hell was that. Two: why didn’t I know about it; and three: how is that even possible?!”

“We dubbed it Protocol NCC-1701,” Steve says, utterly unapologetic though sparing a wink at Tony’s snort in reaction to the name, “and Vision wasn’t entirely sure it’d work.”

Tony rounds on Vision. “Why didn’t you tell me, buddy! We could’ve scienced together!” 

“Science is not a verb,” Wanda chides in lieu of Bruce. Tony glares at her. 

“My abilities were sufficient to calculate necessary measures, Tony,” Vision explains, his tone completely level. “I am happy to discuss the ramifications once we are back in New York.”

“It’s a date,” Tony declares, ‘cos he can’t really argue with Vision’s logic. Steve’s a much better target for his frustration. “Why didn’t _you_ tell me, then? Huh?”

“Oh, because you don’t keep secrets from the team about new tech? Or did I miss the memo about how you don’t need the bracelets anymore to get into the suit when it’s not in sentry mode?” Steve growls, and _holy shit_ , that just backfired spectacularly. 

He schools his features into his most innocent expression. “Uh… it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission?” 

He should have figured that a comment like that would pull Steve up short and yes, there’s a scowl and the clipped tone. 

“What did you do.”

“What makes you think I –”

“Tony!”

“Fine! Okay!” He throws his hands up, intimately aware of every Avenger’s eyes on him. “I might have, uh, _attachedsensorstomybones_.”

“Come again?”

He’d love to crack a joke at that very blatant serve, but the way Wanda’s eyes light up and Steve’s hands ball into fists dissuades him fairly quickly. 

He swallows. Well, he always knew it’d come out eventually. “I’ve been experimenting with, you know, internal sensors for the armor to reduce external equipment, and when I broke my arms and Helen had to operate anyway –”

“You mean you just, what, implanted a microchip into your body?” 

Oh boy, Steve looks really mad. 

“Sorta? We used that new glue –”

“Glue?!”

“It’s perfectly safe!” Tony swears. “Helen’s been using it for weeks prior to my operation and besides, everything worked today! I wouldn’t have taken the MK XX with me as a backup if I hadn’t been absolutely one hundred percent sure it’d work! I’d never compromise the safety of the team like that!”

“What about _your_ safety?” Steve barks. “You talk like it’s all fine as long as the team’s safe but you’re part of the team, Tony, damn it! You think we won’t mind if you blow yourself up because one of your experiments fails? You’re not a guinea pig, you’re an Avenger!”

The outburst leaves Steve breathing audibly through his nose, chest heaving, and the rest of the team wearing matching scowls, softening only whenever Tony winces at Steve’s tone. 

He takes a few moments to mull over his answer, but no matter how he looks at it, Steve won’t like it much. 

“I know that I’m an Avenger, and I do think of my safety, Cap, but I’m also a scientist and engineer and the only way I’ll keep inventing is by pushing the boundaries of what’s possible. Yeah, sometimes that involves taking risks, and I’m not gonna stop taking them and making some poor schmuck take them instead just ‘cos you’re worried I’ll break a freaking fingernail.”

“That stunt coulda cost you more than a fingernail, Stark,” Barnes butts in. “One of the gauntlets could’ve taken off your arm.”

Steve’s eyes widen at that but Tony’s already raising his hands and shaking his head. “Nope, I ran as many simulations as I could. No severing body parts possible. Well, possible, but not _probable_ after the right calibrations – yeah, I’ll stop talking now.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, dude,” Sam interrupts, stepping between Steve and him. Gotta hand it to the guy; he has guts. “And you two are both gonna calm down before you take each other’s head off, you hear me?”

Steve’s nostrils are still flaring but, wonders of wonders, he listens to Wilson, and Tony is more than glad than to drop the issue. Vision sits down next to him a few minutes later and asks about the processes behind the MK XX, in turn expanding on how the fuck he is actually able to _beam_ from one continent to another. 

Tony’s sure his head won’t stop spinning ‘til the presidential election, it is so thoroughly blown. 

They arrive at the facility in the early evening thanks to something called time zones, and Tony leaves Cap and Widow to join Hill in the fight over who gets to interrogate Emma Frost first, making a beeline for where Rhodey is pretending to read a magazine in one of the siting areas close to the Avengers communal area, looking tired, of all things, like he hasn’t slept well this weekend. 

“National Geographic? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

Rhodey discards the magazine and shoots him a wide grin. “Better than Golf Digest, wouldn’t you say?”

“Or Men’s Health.” Tony gives an exaggerated shudder. “So, you want the dirty details, or what?”

“Yes, please tell me in detail about all the positions Steve and you had sex this weekend,” Rhodey deadpans, and Tony dives into a quick account of what Rhodey missed, including but not limited to the fact that Sam scored on Saturday. Tony glosses over the fight Steve and he just had on the flight back, grateful when Rhodey doesn’t make him elaborate. 

See, that’s why Tony loves him. Like a bro. 

“So,” he eventually drawls, fluttering his eyelashes at said bro. “What about you?”

“I think I helped Bruce with a breakthrough. He’ll want to talk to you, too.”

It’s interesting, but also a deflection, so Tony waves a dismissive hand. “Awesome, but not what I asked and you know it.”

Rhodey tries – and fails – to shrug in a nonchalant manner. “Pretty uneventful, other than that.”

“Come on,” Tony whines, twisting in the armchair so that he’s half-lying on it. “I heard what you said! I saw you dance with her at my birthday party! And at Barton’s! And I know you’ve been helping her train in hand-to-hand, so spill, Rhodey, please?”

But Rhodey is narrowing his eyes at him. “Tones, I swear – no mocking me, no telling _anyone_ about this, all right?”

“Scout’s honor!”

“Tony.”

“Fine, I swear on DUM-E that I won’t tell anyone and that I’ll indulge in minimal mocking only.”

The corner of Rhodey’s mouth twitches in a way that Tony has come to understand as ‘fair enough’, and he shifts forward on the chair, prompting Tony to sit up straighter in turn. 

“We watched a movie together. Well, we watched an episode of Sherlock together.”

“Buddy! You used to have so much game!” Tony begins, though a gesture from Rhodey makes him fall silent again. 

“She liked it so much we binge watched all of season one, then season two yesterday. I even cooked for her before that. Now I’m not saying it was a date –”

“Definitely a date…”

“- but we both had a great time and she said she’d wait for season three until we both found the time to watch it.”

“Wow. And that from the guy who once seduced _twins_ with a War Machine story. Life as I know it is over.” Tony hangs his head. “What’s with the bags under your eyes, then, buddy?”

His best friend grimaces. “It’s complicated, is all.”

Tony takes in the tension in Rhodey’s body, his slightly slumped shoulders, and decides it’s too early to preach about superhero lifestyles and how Rhodey should shove his reservations about dating a colleague out of the nearest window, for fuck’s sake. 

Being the clever guy that he is, Rhodey picks up on it and a bit of the apprehension about him fades as he shoves Tony playfully. “Come on, man, I’m sure Steve’s back from the meeting. You still got to make up.”

Now that has Tony perk up and practically leap from the chair. “Right! I almost forgot! Make up sex!”

The sound of Rhodey’s groan follows him down the hallway. 

*

When Tony lays eyes on Steve again, it’s at the door to his room ‘cos Steve _knocked_.

“What was that about ‘this ain’t the last fight we’re gonna have’ and you always coming back? Which step included knocking?”

“Shut up, I’m still mad.”

“Really? I thought that scowl meant you love me.”

The scowl in question smooths out at that, and blue eyes soften while Tony closes the door and turns towards his partner. “I do. Love you.”

“But you don’t get why I glued sensors to my radius and ulna, it’s okay.”

“I –”

“No, it is, Steve, ‘cos you’re a soldier, not a scientist. You throw yourself on grenades – something that still gives me nightmares, by the way –”

“I told you, that was years ago –”

“- and I do shit like this. Same difference.”

Tony eventually falls silent and observes Steve’s features as they morph from angry to annoyed to pensive to reluctant understanding in the span of a minute. 

“Fine. But I need you to tell me these things, Tony.”

“Like you told me Vision’s solved the world’s mobility problem?”

They stare at each other for a bit after that, neither of them willing to back down. It could go on for hours, Tony’s sure of that; they’re both stubborn enough, that’s for sure. He bites his bottom lip, letting his glare morph into something sultrier and the effect it has on Steve is immediate. 

Tony’s back hits the wall a moment later as lips cover his own and swallow the grunt of pain at the forceful contact. Broad hands keep his hips in place as Steve licks into his mouth, then dip lower when Tony supports his weight on his lover’s shoulders and wraps his feet around his waist. Steve catches on in a heartbeat, pressing closer to make sure Tony doesn’t slide down the wooden plane of the door. 

“Gawd, please fuck me like this,” Tony whimpers as the possibility occurs to him, and Steve seems to love that idea judging by the way his hips buckle. 

Steve sets him down long enough for Tony to shuck his pants and underwear while his partner grabs some lube and then his back hits the door again. Steve’s pants are pooling around his ankles as far as Tony can tell, but then he doesn’t care ‘cos one of Steve’s slick-covered fingers presses into him. 

“Come on, big guy, hurry up,” he spurs, digging the heels of his feet into Steve’s lower back. He receives a growl in response, but Steve does hurry. After the world’s most rushed prep, it burns quite a bit as Steve breaches him. They both hiss, though Tony just buries his fingers into those perfectly sculptured shoulder muscles until his partner starts thrusting; shallowly at first but soon gaining in force. 

“Fuck yeah,” Tony pants, letting his head fall back. It hits the door with a thump and apparently draws Steve’s attention to his neck. Teeth scrape across sensitive skin and the faster Steve thrusts, the more Tony’s cock rubs against his abs in the space between them. “That all you got, big guy? You scared I’ll break? Guess what, I’m not glass.”

“You are to me,” Steve growls, the words a low rumble inside his chest. 

“Yeah? You gonna break me?”

“Never,” Steve gasps, punctuating the remark with a decidedly powerful thrust that makes Tony’s teeth clatter.

After that all he is capable of are pathetically high whimpers he’d be ashamed about if it weren’t _oh so fucking good_ , the way Steve just rams into him and bites his neck, more animalistic than Tony’s ever seen the guy. There’s something primal about their frantic movements that makes Tony’s head spin and chases pleasure up and down his spine until he spills all over his chest and stomach, a few drops clinging to Steve’s skin as well. 

“Gimme all you’ve got,” he whispers, knowing that it’ll register with Steve’s enhanced hearing and a moment later, Steve’s hips move even faster with so much force that Tony knows he’ll feel it for days. 

One last thrust, then Steve stills, pressing close and teeth buried in the nape of Tony’s neck. He can _literally feel_ Steve’s climax deep inside him and his cock twitches feebly at the sensation. He’s never felt this alive before after sex and he holds on to Steve’s shoulders as they sink to the ground. They end up sprawled on the floor with Tony covering Steve like a blanket as the aftershocks run their course. 

“You okay?”

Tony opens one eye to gauge his lover’s reaction, finding the expected worry etched into those handsome features. 

“Ask me that again and you’ll sleep on the couch, Rogers.”

Steve huffs angrily. “I’ll ask that as often as I like, Stark. I could tear you limb for limb if I wanted.”

“Like those wooden logs? Seriously, I think I popped a boner back then. Too bad we don’t need fire wood here at the facility. Wait, we could change that!”

“Tony, I’m not going to chop firewood for your sexual pleasure. I’m being serious here.”

The implications take a while to unfold. Sure, Tony’s always been aware that Steve is holding back, even if he supposedly “lets go”, but to have felt the reality of his strength this close puts another spin on it. 

“Well, I guess you can ask if you really need to,” he mutters against his lover’s clavicle. “As long as I get to be pissed ‘cos it reminds me that I’m just a guy in a tin.”

Steve’s arms tighten around him. “You’re more than that, Tony.”

“I’m one step above Katniss in the ranking for weakest link in the team, Cap, and I got no illusions about that. Rhodey doesn’t either – but at least he got awesome military training. I’m a mechanic, at the end of the day.”

“A mechanic who saves people, who’ll solve the world’s energy crisis and who’ll give me grey hairs because he’s trying to imitate Wolverine.”

Tony’s head snaps up at that to aim a glare at his cushion. “Hey, the armor’s gonna be in a totally different league than the claws of that _bub_!”

Steve grins. “Some people would consider that a compliment.”

“Well, some people can also stretch their limbs in weird-ass ways; they got nothing to say… Why are we talking about Richards again when we’ve got come all over us?”

Steve huffs, though it’s a happy one judging by the way his grin hasn’t disappeared yet. “Because someone’s ignoring the point I’m trying to make.”

Tony rolls his eyes and his body, flopping down on Steve’s left who shifts and props himself up on an elbow. “Yeah, yeah, my mug is right next to the definition of superhero in the dictionary, I get it. But I’m not doing all I can, love, and until I am you’re gonna have to live with the mad scientist side of me.”

Whatever response Steve has to that, Tony never gets to hear it. Instead of saying anything, his partner kisses him, putting a preliminary end to the conversation. 

“Shower?” Steve suggests, and Tony can feel his blood flow south. 

“You got the best ideas, Cap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* Boys… The [hotel](http://www.paris-hotel-orsay.com/) I have them stay in is real, though I doubt it has enough suites to accommodate the entire gang outside of fiction ;) The Love Wall is a thing, too! 
> 
> Regarding Tony ranking himself one step higher than Clint as weakest link, that is only due to the fact that Clint has three children that make for excellent pressure points should their existence and identity ever be revealed. (If that makes sense??) 
> 
> And don’t hesitate to let me know what you thought of this installment :)


	17. Extreme Measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The associate from a previous chapter makes another appearance today, y’all :) It might seem self-indulgent, but his involvement will have a point later, I swear. We’re also going to – finally! – get to meet Erik Lehnsherr in more detail, yay! (who is not a Mutant. Or is he? *drum-roll*)
> 
> This chapter is a rollercoaster, though. At times like this I wished characters would listen to me more. But nope, they know it aaaaaaall better… *sighs* … *whacks-Steve-and-Tony-over-the-head-with-a-StarkPad*

Steve walks out of the interrogation room and puts his hand through a wall. The action only registers when he notices a drop of blood from his split knuckle hits the bland floor of New York’s SHIELD headquarters. 

“You’re paying for that,” Hill says. She must have left the observation room as soon as Steve stormed out on Emma Frost. 

“Bill me,” Steve snaps, retrieving a handkerchief from one of his pockets. He isn’t in uniform but has donned a pair of cargo pants. 

“Wanna tell me what that was about?”

“You were listening, weren’t you, Agent Hill?”

“That’s Deputy Director Hill, Captain.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that particular bout of posturing with a reply. Instead he decides to spell it out for the lady. “She said, and I quote, ‘The mission was successful.’ Frost isn’t the slightest bit troubled that she’s in SHIELD custody, and you know why?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“They wanted to show the world what Mutants are capable of – Frost told me that before she made the officers open fire on and Widow and me. The presence of the AIM soldiers wasn’t a coincidence; the Brotherhood and AIM are working together.”

“That’s absurd and you know it, Captain. None of the operatives’ testimonies indicates _any_ level of cooperation. Why would the Brotherhood support anything that’ll potentially harm their own kind? They’ve repeatedly shown their discontent with the SHRA; AIM and Hydra are known for their gruesome experiments on humans and Mutants alike. But enlighten me, please. What’s their common denominator, Captain?”

Steve takes a deep breath, aware of how his interpretation will sound to her ears. “They’re playing the public, trying to stir anti-superhuman sentiment. Hydra’s been known to breed civil unrest and AIM’s thrown their head in the ring with them. If the SHRA passes, there will be protests, Hill. What if the Brotherhood struck a coalition to ensure the SHRA passes, only to then break their pact with AIM and make a bid for dominance themselves in the ensuing chaos?”

Hill looks at him as if he’s lost his mind, and he can’t really fault her for that. She didn’t hear Frost in Paris, though, and she doesn’t have Steve’s gut shouting at her that there is more to this than meets the eye. 

“You should talk to a professional about your level of paranoia, Captain Rogers,” Hill eventually says, her tone clipped. “I’ll send you the bill for the damage. I want your report in my inbox first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies out of reflex, glad when she stalks off. Steve spares another glance at the door behind which Emma Frost is still sitting, cuffed to the table and wearing an unflattering helmet to suppress her telepathy, before he makes his way back to the garage and his waiting bike. 

It is Tuesday evening and the sunset is breathtaking as he heads north, back to the facility. 

“J.J.?” he says, not sure whether or not the AI inside his watch can hear him while he’s doing seventy on the freeway. 

“How may I help you, Captain Rogers?” comes the reply through his earpiece. 

“How’s public opinion on the SHRA right now?”

“Currents surveys as well as my personal data suggest the majority of US citizens to be in favor of the legislation, Captain. It is probable that the Senate will put the bill on the calendar before they rest for the remainder of the summer, thus meeting the minimum time required for a new bill to be debated in either of the Houses.”

“Thank you, J.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”

Steve realizes suddenly that he has sped up during J.J.’s monologue, and he forces himself to stay out of really illegal speed limits. Captain America, arrested for speeding. Now that would be a headline… 

He almost misses his exit because of the idea that thought ignites. 

“J., sorry to bother you again,” he begins, waiting until the AI has assured him he is not being a bother before continuing. “Could you calculate something for me? Without it ever getting back to Tony?”

“I may calculate anything you wish, Captain, yet should sir chose to override your privacy mode then I am unable to stop him.”

 _More like unwilling,_ Steve thinks but doesn’t say. “Good. Now, assuming I’d want to influence public opinion, as in… show them that the SHRA is a bad idea… how should I go about that?”

The AI is silent for a few seconds. “I would suggest recording a video to post online, Captain, yet you lack the necessary social media presence. Other options in a similar vein include appearances on talk shows, interviews for publications with large circulation or influential online blogs. Do you wish me to continue?”

“Not necessary, J. You’re swell, thank you.”

“Not at all, Captain Rogers.”

Steve smiles as the gates to the Avengers facility open without him needing to provide ID, accepting it as a quiet gesture of support from the AI that is was probably meant to be, then pulls into his parking space. 

He has a plan ready even before he dismounts. Tony’s voice echoes in his mind: _Better to ask forgiveness than permission._ If this were official Avengers business, Steve would keep the team in the loop, yet as it is this concerns him as a private citizen.

Thus he files for a personal day Friday afternoon after a single phone call got him a spot, and informs the others the following day that he is going to be away for about nine to eleven hours that week. 

“I know I can’t stop you,” he says, eyes fixed on Tony, “but it would mean a lot to me if you didn’t hack my flight details or whatever other files you’d need to find out where I’m going and what I’m doing. Okay?”

His boyfriend opens his mouth only to close it again while the others are wearing matching expressions of concern. 

Steve lifts his hands, aiming for his most soothing tone. “I promise it’s nothing bad. It’s just a personal affair I’m not going to talk about until I return.”

“Ngh, the suspense is killing me already,” Tony groans, tipping his head back before he nods. “But okay, no snooping around… Who’s the best boyfriend ever, huh?”

“You, but only if you actually keep your word,” Steve teases, unable to hide the relief making his shoulders sag. Across the table, Bucky tilts his head, a calculating glint in his eyes. 

*

“Sir, there is a communication I believe will be of interest to you.”

“Hit me, J.,” Tony says around the screwdriver he’s currently holding between his teeth. What? When the cat’s out of the house, the mice can skip training and go to the workshop instead. Fine, so Tony didn’t really _skip_ anything ‘cos Friday afternoon is reserved for the SHIELD newbies… but to more important things, like the SHIELD document appearing next to him once he’s on his feet. 

Said document looks inconspicuous enough – it’s the content that gives Tony pause. “See what you can find out, J.”

If this plays out how Tony thinks it will, he’ll need clean clothes so he sheds his grime-soaked pants and shirt and digs through one of the drawers on the other side of the workshop, unearthing a workable set of under armor. 

“There is no electronic record of ‘Prison 42’, yet I have found references to an ‘area 42’ in the files of the Department of Defense.”

Tony blinks. “And what’s area 42, darling?”

A map of the United States appears on the screen nearest to him, then J.J. zooms closer. “It appears to be nothing more than a desolate strip of land holding several miniscule lakes southwest of Atkinson, Nebraska. Neither SHIELD nor the US government seem to have any electronic data on it, sir.”

Tony squints at the image. Prison 42. _Hang on…_

“Please locate General Ross for me, J.”

“Right away, sir.” A beat. “He was last seen in a wellness hotel in Long Pine, Nebraska.”

“And where would this hotel be, pray tell,” Tony drawls, already knowing the answer. J.J. highlighting the small town northwest of area 42 only confirms it. 

“I guess it’s time to pay Agent a visit, don’t you think, J.?”

“Shall I prepare the suit or the quinjet, sir?”

Tony is already walking towards the elevator whose doors slide open as he approaches. “Let’s take the MK XX for another spin.” 

*

Tony pats himself on the back, mentally at least, when once again activating the MK XX with a thought sent to the sensors attached to his forearm bones goes off without a hitch. Seriously, it’s time to have Helen insert the other four sensors into his lower extremities as soon as possible. 

Supersonic speed takes him to Virginia and the highly classified location of the current SHIELD HQ in no time. It’s called ‘The Playground’, which never fails to amuse Tony, ‘cos really, Fury had a hilarious sense of humor when he wasn’t busy glaring at everyone or instilling the fear of God in hapless agents. 

Coulson really needs to work on honing that particular skill since his glares have nothing on his predecessor’s, and Tony tells the man as much when he enters his office and finds Tony spinning around in the Director’s chair. 

“Get out of my chair, Stark.”

He shoots Coulson a grin but complies. “I see you’re still rocking the amputee look there. You sure you don’t want me to build something? It’ll be a hell of a lot more ethical than power-draining handcuffs, that’s for sure.”

“I was not aware you were such an expert on ethics.”

“Guess Cap’s rubbing off on me.”

Coulson sinks into his chair, then scowls when he notices Tony messed with the settings. Tony picks up a glass case from one of the office’s sideboards, throwing it from one hand to the other without actually looking at which Captain America trading card it holds. 

“Put that down, Mr. Stark,” Coulson snaps, “and tell me why you’re annoying me.”

“Oh, I think you know why,” Tony says, replacing he glass case. “Frankly I’m appalled you thought that would fool me.”

“It got you here, didn’t it.”

“I’m hurt. You could’ve just called.”

“Seems a bit uninventive, doesn’t it.”

Tony inclines his head, unable to argue with that, then flops down in one of the two chairs in front of Coulson’s desk. “Really, no name plate? You could put something awesome on it, like ‘Director Badass’ or ‘Captain America’s Number One Fan’. Oh, you want me to get you an autograph for that poster?” He points towards the large print on a wall that actually looks vintage. “‘Cos I can do that. I’ll just ask my boyfriend.”

Coulson’s ensuing glare is strong enough to make Tony get to the point. _Guess Fury taught him a few tricks after all…_

“So you guys are building a super-secret prison without leaving any electronic records in area 42, huh. General Ross as your advisor – talk about getting in bed with the devil. What the hell were you thinking, Coulson?”

“General Ross is an expert in apprehending and detaining superhumans. Even without the SHRA about to be ratified, we need a permanent place that will hold the likes of Crossbones or Frost.”

“But he’s hitting a dead end, right? That’s why you oh-so-accidentally mentioned the prison in one of your communications, knowing that J.J. would pick up on it and fill me in, then I’d go snooping and find the meager records, and my curiosity would make me want to have a part of that. How am I doing so far, Agent?”

“Is it working?”

Tony narrows his eyes at the other man. Damn, it definitely is. His hands are itching and he wants to get them on the blueprints, like, _yesterday_. “You’ll owe me.”

Coulson actually cracks a smile at that, his remaining hand reaching for a desk drawer. It unearths a paper file which he slides across the table top, though he doesn’t let it go when Tony grabs it. 

“This is a top secret project, Stark. Tell anyone and I’ll have you tried for treason, no matter how much it will upset Captain Rogers.”

“Like you could catch me,” Tony replies with a derisive snort, then tears open the file. Half a page in, he already has seven different improvements outlined in his head. One paragraph makes his head snap up, brow furrowed. 

“What do you mean, this is gonna be the _only_ superhuman prison? Are you _insane_?” He holds up a hand. “No, don’t answer that, you’re taking on the Director’s job, of course you’re missing a few marbles…” He breathes out audibly through is nose. “So your plan is to keep all superhuman convicts in one place? Doesn’t that strike you as a little, oh, I don’t know… Like the premise of Con Air, just the cons are still gonna be in prison?”

“We are open for suggestions.”

“Suggestions, he says! What you need is an entirely different concept, Coulson! This isn’t going to be cheap, you know.”

The Director meets his gaze head on. “Name your price, Stark. I don’t have all night.”

“What, hot date waiting for you?” Unsurprisingly, the jib goes ignored. Tony mulls it over in his head briefly, yet a few seconds into calculating the pros and cons, the balance is clear. He sits up straighter and sees Coulson’s shoulders square in anticipation. “Alright, here’s the deal: I’ll design you the most secure prison system in the world – nope, the _galaxy_ – and in return you sign of on my plans for SWORD.”

Coulson regards him for a second. “You sure you want to take on that responsibility?”

“You sure you want to leave your infrastructure this weak?” Tony shoots back. “The contingency plans you got in place are ridiculous, seriously. And all you do is lounge about all day! The job’s child’s play if you’re used to my life. You know, we should trade places for a day, Agent. You’ll walk away with an ulcer, I’d bet my favorite car on that.”

“If you say so, Mr. Stark.”

“So we got a deal?”

Coulson takes his sweet time before he nods, an unnecessary display of power that rubs Tony the wrong way and he’s about to storm off in a huff when the Director finally agrees. Tony already has a hand on the door handle to leave just as undetectably as he entered the facility, but a sudden realization makes him turn around. 

“You bastard,” he laughs, and Coulson’s answering smirk tells him he knows Tony figured it out. “You’ve been playing chicken on the SWORD front for months! You set me up, didn’t you, to make sure I’d help with Prison 42?”

“I learnt from the best,” is all Coulson says and Tony can’t even complain too much, he’s too impressed that he actually fell for it this long. 

Doesn’t change the fact that even if Tony _had_ seen through the scheme, he’d have gone along with it. He can’t in good conscience allow SHIELD to put superhuman cons into a subpar prison, not when he’s got the chance to do something about it. Prison 42 is a good start, but it’s not enough, not secure enough. 

_It needs to be enough_ , Tony thinks as the armor closes around him. 

He’s back at the facility soon enough, draws up a few preliminary plans to get the mess inside his head sorted at least a little bit, then has J.J. start initial calculations before he remembers the other thing he wanted to do as soon as he was back.

“J.J., call whatshername, that hot redhead in charge of my legal department.”

“Are you referring to Mrs. Lauren Everhart, sir?”

“Tall, strawberry-blonde, slick as an eel, into BDSM?” No, Tony does not know the latter from first-hand experience. He has his sources. 

“Calling now.” A pause. “It appears she has muted her phone, sir. Her schedule indicates she is in a meeting.”

“Override, J.; I got plans for Christmas.”

“If you are sure, sir.” 

It’s as close to criticism as J.J. ever gets, but if Tony doesn’t call now he’ll forget all about it, so he just glares at the nearest camera. J.J. seems to have analyzed his expression and concluded that _yes, sir is sure_ , for a few moments later Lauren Everhart answers the call. 

“Whoever you are better have a very good reason for hacking my phone,” she snaps into the line. “I was in an important meeting.”

“My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Everhart,” Tony purrs, voice dripping with utterly fake sincerity. “You want me to hold?”

To her credit, the woman switches gears at a speed rivaling Pietro’s. 

“Mr. Stark, I’m sorry for my tone. You caught me unaware. What can I do for you?”

Tony grins at his reflection in the nearest screen, which tells him the calculations are 93% done. Sometimes the amount of power that comes with being Tony Stark, billionaire, genius, philanthropist and superhero, is dizzying. You know, when he’s not wishing to hide in his workshop for a month. 

“I’m going to have to borrow that third year associate of yours for a bit.”

“Mr. Specter-Ross?”

Tony checks the file open in a nearby tab. “Yup, that’s the one.”

“He is taking point on a current case, unfortunately, but after that he will be at your disposal, sir.”

“Hm, when’s that?”

“Closing statements are due on Monday, verdict expected on Tuesday. I’m sorry, but I cannot pull him from this case, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, ain’t that urgent. But tell him to call me at his earliest convenience, maybe sometime tonight once he’s done. I’m sure he’s not the kinda guy to clock out at noon on a Friday. I’ll have my number programmed into his phone.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark. Anything else, or may I return to my meeting?”

Tony chuckles at the snark. “Sure, don’t let me keep ya, ma’am.”

She adds some pleasantry or other, but Tony isn’t listening anymore, his mind already on the data J.J. just spewed out. 

*

Oliver breaks approximately twelve traffic rules that evening, biking home as fast as the pedals allow, but he doesn’t really care. 

What he cares about is that once he’s inside his shoebox of an apartment – which he is paying for himself, no matter how often his fathers offered to buy him a place – he is going to dial the number that magically appeared in his contacts and that will put him through to none other than Tony Stark. 

For a second, Oliver really thought Lauren Everhart was joking when she told him to call the man that evening, but even though Everhart is nowhere near as scary or fierce as aunt Jessica, she is not prone to joking about freaking _Iron Man_ asking for his help. 

Well, assistance. Grunt work, probably. But still – never in a million years did Oliver expect to come face to face with the greatest innovative mind of their time. Granted, Stark Industries was on top of his list of preferred employers, mostly because of the variety of their legal needs and the amount of pro bono work they do, but to actually _meet_ Tony Stark? 

Fortunately, he handled that first time well enough to earn a pat on the back from Pa as well as a long hug from Dad, and got to meet Nelson and Murdock, who are swiftly becoming legends in the legal underbelly of NYC. And now, a new adventure awaits him… 

Just as he lets himself into his flat, his cell phone chirps with a text from his Dad. 

_Way to go, Junior! Call us the second you get off the phone with him. Harvey demands it… and I’m curious as hell too :-)_

He breathes out through his nose in an attempt to alleviate the nervousness he is feeling (which fails epically, of course), then produces his phone while flopping onto the couch with his messenger bag. 

He hits call before he can get any more excited. _Your Dad was such an excited puppy, too, Junior_ , his Pa’s voice echoes in his mind, but a quick shake of the head clears his thoughts again. 

The downside of his scarily effective brain: he has to force it to shut up. 

The dial tone stops and Oliver’s eyes snap to the screen. Somehow, it has been turned into a video call on the way from his phone to Stark’s, and the feed opens to reveal what seems to be a workshop judging by the array of cables, metal and machinery Oliver can identify. One second later, Tony Stark steps into the frame, wearing a wife beater, a pair of really old jeans with stains and tears, and an impressive amount of grease. Or motor oil. Oliver has no idea, if he’s honest. 

“Ah, rookie! Great timing, I’m just starting some more calculations.”

“Good, Mr. Stark –” 

“I thought you got an eidetic memory, kid? Use it, come on.”

“Uh, sorry, To– wait. How do you know about that?”

“Was in your file.” Stark waves a dismissive hand, as if this gross invasion of privacy is something he does regularly. Then again, as a main benefactor of SHIELD, that’s probably just his modus operandi. “So now, tell me: why Stark Industries when your folks have a law firm of their own?”

Oliver gives his best impression of a fish then, opening his mouth and closing it again before he manages to formulate an answer. “I wanted to make it on my own.”

“Kudos, rookie,” Stark says solemnly. He sounds like he means it. 

“So, Mrs. Everhart didn’t say what this is about…” Oliver trails off in the hopes of prompting an explanation out of the other man, effectively ignoring how his hands are shaking a little. 

The angle of the feed switches and now shows Stark pulling up a ratty stool, settling into it with a huff. Oliver knows enough about computers thanks to his hacktivist BFF Taraji to be impressed by the seamless transition, then recalls her going on and on about Stark’s AI he’s allegedly hiding from the world. Holy shit, Taraji is going to flip when Oliver tells her about this… 

Meanwhile, Tony Stark has wiped beads of sweat and some grime off his forehead with a cloth he then discards mindlessly. “How much do you know about international law, rookie?”

“Uh, private or public? A lot about the former, not as much about the latter.”

“Well, you’ll have to read up either way. I got a new project for you, kiddo, and your boss was kind enough to agree to loan you to me.” Stark shifts on the stool, presumably to make himself more comfortable. “Needless to say, all that we’re discussing is confidential, but I guess I’m not telling you anything new there.”

That startles a nervous chuckle out of Oliver. “Nope, sir. Tony! I meant Tony.”

Now it’s Stark’s turn to laugh. “Anyway, the calculations are gonna be done in about ten minutes, so I’ll cut to the chase: SI is the main benefactor of SHIELD as well as the Avengers Initiative; so back when Hydra decided to stage their take-over party and SHIELD imploded, I was able to keep the Avengers afloat. When SHIELD got back into business, I arranged for the Avengers to be kept under a subsidiary called SWORD, aka Sentient World Observation and Response Department. Right now it’s just that, a department under SHIELD’s umbrella, but just in case there’s another incident like Washington, or Widow decides to plaster the web with confidential files again, or whatever the fuck else might happen, I want SWORD to be able to keep standing once the house burnt down.”

At times like this, Oliver is infinitely glad for his high IQ or else he wouldn’t be able to make sense of Stark’s ramblings, like, _at all_. 

“You want SWORD to become an independent organization with international jurisdiction in fighting supernatural or extraterrestrial criminal and terrorist forces in case SHIELD goes down again?”

Tony snaps his fingers and beams at him through the screen. “You got it, kid.”

Oliver blinks. “That’s… going to be complicated.”

“But it can be done, right? I don’t care how many loopholes you gotta exploit, as long as SWORD can keep operating without SHIELD in the picture should shit hit the fan.”

“I can’t say anything definitive without looking at the exact legal documents… Uh, does SHIELD know you’re planning this?”

Because if not, Oliver will be effectively committing treason or something, and that is definitely not on his bucket list. 

Thankfully, however, Stark nods. “Got carte blanche from the Director today. He’s gonna sign off on anything you conjure up, as long as it enables us to keep operating in case SHIELD goes poof.” 

“Thank the gods… Uh, I mean,” Oliver stammers, but Tony is grinning and shaking his head. 

“I hear ya, rookie. Anyway, now that you know what this is all about, I’ll let you get back to this case. I’ll have someone deliver a tablet to you tomorrow with all relevant documents and some background reading, uplink to SHIELD servers, yada yada yada, you’ll be able to dive right in. Just don’t use it to watch porn ‘cos I’ll know and I doubt we’re at that point in our relationship yet.”

Oliver can but nod while some sort of alert rings out on Tony’s side and the engineer gets a far-away look on his face and ends the call without so much as a goodbye. Must have been the calculations. 

The next day, a courier finds him on his lunch break and hands over a StarkPad in a high-end case with integrated keyboard (and a stylized Iron Man figure on the outside, which has Oliver crack up a bit). Inside, there’s a note. 

_If you got any more questions, text me, you’ll be most likely to get an answer. Or ask Jarvis Junior. Just no word about him to your hacker friends, rookie._

Oliver has to keep himself from bouncing back to his desk in anticipation. 

*

Steve wasn’t sure whether or not his plea would be heard, but Tony surprised him with actually listening. He can’t imagine how hard it must have been for his partner to resist from setting J.J. on Steve’s travel plans, though the fact that he did warms Steve’s chest more than anything. 

He lands near the studio where _Mutant Talks_ is filmed live after a boring flight on one of the slower quinjets, and tries not to bristle when the personnel usher him through make-up and pander to him in an incredibly artificial way. Miranda, the host, is refreshingly sincere when she says hello ten minutes prior to recording. They quickly talk through the topics Steve is willing to cover, then Miranda narrows her eyes. 

“I have to ask, Captain –”

“Steve.”

She smiles. “Steve. Why my show?”

“Something Tony said – he wasn’t too happy when you asked him about Ultron during his interview in February,” Miranda winces, but Steve presses on, “and he complained that it’s not his fault that the network won’t allow you to be more political. I figured you’d allow me to sneak in a message, if I came on.”

“Huh.” She mulls over that for a second. “I never thought Stark’s anger would benefit me one day.”

“Tony is full of surprises,” Steve says with a pleasant smile as an assistant pulls Miranda from the backstage area onto the studio stage. 

Steve checks his watch – four minutes to go – then pulls out his phone and types out a quick text. He’ll face the music once he’s back on the East coast. 

*

When Tony’s head starts spinning from lack of food and too many blueprints and schematics, he ambles upstairs to the Avengers kitchen, taking a moment to simply breathe in deeply when the smell of whatever deliciousness Bruce seems to be conjuring up tonight hits him. 

“Twenty bucks says he’s buying an engagement ring,” he hears Rhodey proclaim then, and just like that he knows what the team’s talking about. 

“Nah, dude; Cap would never go ring shopping without either me, or Nat, or Bucky, or hell, all three of us!” Wilson argues, but Rhodey doesn’t back down. 

“Hear me out: if Steve took all of you guys out, someone’s bound to recognize you. And Steve couldn’t set up a private showing at some jeweler without Tones finding out.”

“But guys, what makes you so sure Cap’s the one doing the buying? Ain’t that more Stark’s forte?” Clint butts in, and Tony won’t get a better serve if he asked for it, so he exits the hallway and steps into the kitchen where indeed his fellow Avengers are either setting the table or making out on the couch. 

“Can’t argue with that logic, Barton,” Tony quips. “You think Cap’s more of a diamond ring or gold band kinda fella? He ever said anything, Barnes?”

“Oh yeah, right after we braided each other’s hair and looked at bridal magazines,” the man deadpans with an impressively flat tone of voice.

“Hm, Steve in white…”

“Tones, please!”

“I wasn’t saying anything explicit!”

“Your face said it loud enough for everyone, Stark,” Nat says, and Tony would retaliate with a really clever reply but at that moment his phone vibrates in his pockets. 

_You once said it’s easier to ask for forgiveness. I needed to do this – please don’t be too mad. And turn on PBS. I love you._

“J.,” Tony says, drawing out the syllable. “What’s on PBS right now?”

Bruce turns around from where he was fiddling with the hearth and several heads whip around to look at Tony. 

“Advertisements, sir,” J. says. “However, the show _Mutant Talks_ is about to begin.”

“That son of a bitch!” Tony runs a hand through his hair, jamming his phone back into his pocket. “Turn it on!”

A few large strides put him at the back of the largest sofa where Clint and Pietro are sitting up, abandoning their kissing session in favor of staring at the screen playing the intro to a freaking _talk show_. What’s Steve been thinking?

 _“Welcome to Mutant talks! I’m your host Miranda and today I have a very special guest for you,”_ the woman says, her skin just as colorful as ever. 

“The hell?” Sam murmurs under his breath as he comes to a halt next to Tony and Rhodey, the rest of the team mirroring him. 

_“He spends most his time defending us against the bad guys, but on today’s show he’s nothing more than a little kid from Brooklyn. Steve Rogers, everyone!”_

“Shit,” Rhodey whispers emphatically, then rounds on Tony. “You know about this?”

“Nope. He asked me not to spy on him and I didn’t. This is what I get for being considerate, seriously, not doing that again –”

“Shush,” Bruce tells them, and they fall silent as Steve takes a seat next to Miranda. He looks good in light slacks and a navy blue tee that accentuates the contours of his body. Tony remembers telling him the t-shirt brings out his eyes.

_“Thank you for having me, Miranda.”_

_My pleasure! I don’t know if you remember, but I talked to your lesser half in February –”_

_“You mean my better half?”_ Steve interrupts, all white teeth and mirth-filled eyes. The crowd “awwww”s as Clint and Bucky snort. Tony’s a little preoccupied by how Captain ‘My Privacy Is Sacred’ Rogers is currently on live television to react one way or another. 

Meanwhile, Miranda is winking. _“If you insist. He said he didn’t have Valentine plans, but now we know the two of you were together back then. Tell me, how do two superheroes spend the day of love?”_

Steve shrugs, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He is fighting off a blush at the memory, Tony can tell. 

_“Like every couple, I’d say. We had a great day. Tony even made me breakfast.”_

_“And you’re still alive?”_

_“It’s the Serum. Really effective against all sorts of biological hazards,”_ Steve jokes, startling the other Avengers into laughter. 

“Oh, Rogers, you’re so paying for that!” Tony grumbles, not sure whether he’s supposed to coo ‘cos Steve’s really amazing on screen right now, or whether to scowl and vow never to cook for the guy again. 

_“Sounds like dating Mr. Stark is pretty thrilling.”_ Steve nods, but doesn’t comment. Miranda’s expression grows more somber then, and she sits up in her armchair. _“Settle this for me, please, Steve: the trip to Paris was his idea, wasn’t it?”_

Steve’s eyes dart towards his knees and the faintest touch of a blush colors his cheeks. Tony can practically _hear_ the gifs being made of that moment. 

_“Yeah; it was a birthday present, actually.”_ The audience “awww”s again, making Steve chuckle. _“It’s a beautiful city and we all had a great time.”_

_“Why Paris, though?”_

_“It’s something that, uh, my friends and I were talking about, back in ’44. I’ve always appreciated art, and I complained that we were so close to the Louvre but the war never took us close enough to sneak a peak. I let that slip when Tony was listening, and first chance he got he’s filing the paperwork for a team trip to Paris.”_

Miranda blinks, obviously surprised. _“That’s awfully considerate of him.”_

_Steve just smiles, eyes soft, and Tony’s new theory for ‘Why Steve Would Do This’ is to improve his image… SI’s stock is gonna _soar_ , that’s for sure – wait, maybe Pepper is behind this?_

_By now, Miranda has caught herself again and she purses her lips. _“Too bad the trip was cut short.”__

__“Yes. But that is Avengers business, and I’m not here as Captain America.”_ _

__“Exactly. So I won’t be showing any of the impressive footage that’s been making the circles online of you and your team fighting at the Champs de Mars.”_ _

_There are some disappointed noises from the audience when Steve nods. Miranda jerks her head to remove a lock of thick hair that has fallen into her face._

__“Then tell me this, Steve. Why are you here?”_ _

_Tony watches with furrowed brows as Steve’s back straightens minutely and the man swallows. The team has fallen silent – you could cut the tension in the room with a knife, Tony’s not kidding._

__“It’s related to what happened in Paris, but mostly it’s about what is happening in the US. I know I’m not a politician, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn with an opinion, but I thought maybe some people would like to hear it.”_ _

__“Are you referring to the Superhuman Registration Act?”_ _

_“I am."_

“That son of a bitch!” Tony repeats, this time with a lot more gusto. 

“Well, now we know why he didn’t say anything,” Rhodey concedes. “I just hope he cleared this with the Director, or Hill’s going to be pissed.”

“She’s always pissed when Cap’s involved,” Nat says, her arms crossed as she watches Steve explain with big eyes why he thinks the SHRA is a bad idea. 

“Can he do that? Go on the air like that?” Bruce wonders, and Tony smiles wryly. 

“Yup. Well, as Steve Rogers, not as Captain America, but I’d say he really hammered that point home. Gotta hand it to him – it’s a smart move.”

“Almost Stark levels of smart,” Rhodey says, insinuation heavy in his voice. 

“Oh, no, no, no, pal, I had absolutely nothing to do with this! You’d think I’d fuck SHIELD over like this? I’ve been arguing _for_ that damn bill since the beginning!”

“So what, your hand for publicity just _rubbed off_ on him?”

“Cut it out,” Bruce snaps, and they fall silent immediately. There’s no green tinge, though, so Tony thinks the guy just played the ‘I’m Getting Angry’ card for thrills. Well, it’s an effective strategy. 

Tony rubs his hands across his face, digging his palms into his eyes. “J., tell me what happened. Executive override.”

“In the wake of Captain Rogers’ interrogation of Emma Frost on Tuesday, he enquired as to the current public opinion in the SHRA. He then requested suggestions of how he could influence this opinion. I have been asked to keep this confidential. However, Captain Rogers is aware that an executive override would make his request moot.”

“And you just told him to go on _Mutant Talks_ , buddy?”

“I did not, sir. I suggested he upload a video blog or appear on a talk show. The Captain chose the show, my data suggests, because of a comment sir made in February.”

“Damn…”

“When is he due back, J.?” Sam cuts in. 

“ETA on Captain Rogers is approximately 11.38 PM, Mr. Wilson.”

Just then, Tony’s phone starts ringing and yup, the caller ID reads ‘Mike’. 

“Let me guess – this isn’t about my next appointment at the hair dresser?” Tony quips, then flees into the kitchen when several Avengers glare at him to look for something more private and let them watch the rest of the segment. 

“Why the hell am I seeing your boyfriend on live television?”

“’Cos you’ve taken hallucinogens and your latent homosexual tendencies decided to have some fun?”

“Tony, it’s Friday night and I’ve had a hell of a week because someone decided to allow fans to post pictures online, practically erecting a large neon sign to make sure the villains of this world know exactly where to find you. Do not be coy with me now.”

Mike’s tone is harsher than Tony’s ever heard him, so he hurriedly explains what he knows, highlighting the fact that he was being a _good boyfriend_ and this is _in no way his fault_. 

“Oh, what do you know,” Mike sighs, “Trish and Quasar are calling me for a video conference.” A short pause. “I have him on my mobile, putting him on loudspeaker now.”

Tony cringes, allowing his head to roll back and hit the outside of the fridge as the voices of the Avengers’ heads of PR filter through his phone. He lets them wash over him with minimal opposition (‘cos for once their suggestions are actually decent and don’t involve much energy on Tony’s part), infinitely grateful when they all eventually let him go. 

By the time he’s hitting “Post Tweet” on his slightly cheesy but utterly supportive 113 character message, J.J. informs him that Pepper is on the line. 

_Gawd_ , this is going to be a long night. 

*

Steve signs autographs until his wrists hurt after the show is over and declines Miranda’s invitation to join her for dinner. He does accept her parting hug, feeling how grateful she is to know him on her side. 

The flight back is decidedly more interesting as the one several hours ago, mostly because J.J. is kind enough to gather the immediate reactions to his interview. 

“It appears to be going viral, Captain,” J. concludes, much to Steve’s delight. 

He pulls up Tony’s tweet again, because somehow he has to assure himself that it is actually there and not just a product of wishful thinking. 

**Tony Stark (Iron Man)** @IAmIronMan  
Contrary to how it looked, Steve’s actually the bigger sap. The mur de je t’aime was his idea, just sayin… pic.twitter/…

Tony even included a picture that Wanda took that day, showing them standing close, arms around each other’s backs. Tony is looking at the camera while Steve’s eyes are on his partner. There is no mistaking the sentiment blatantly on display. 

Steve’s pretty sure one of the PR people made Tony tweet something, presumably to stave off any rumors of a fight or something equally scandalous, but choosing to add a picture was certainly Tony’s idea. Steve just hopes he’s reading the message correctly. 

As it turns out, he isn’t too wrong. 

“Don’t think that I’m not really mad right now,” Tony announces, jabbing a finger in Steve’s face when he enters the kitchen and finds the entire team gathered to welcome him back. Nat seems impressed, the Maximoffs and Clint amused, Bruce’s expression is just as blank as Vision’s, unfortunately, but Bucky is openly grinning as he watches Tony take a step back and heave a sigh. “But I gotta say, that was one fine move, Rogers.”

Steve swallows. “Thanks.”

“Please tell me you cleared this with SHIELD, dude,” Sam speaks up, “or I swear, Rhodey here’s gonna rupture something.”

Steve glances at the Colonel and sure enough his expression is anything but happy. “I told SHIELD I was taking a personal day and needed to go to Los Angeles. They supplied transportation just in case I needed to make a quick getaway. If they found out what I was planning, they didn’t stop me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that woulda been censorship,” Bucky argues, and Steve catches Vision nodding along in the background. “They got no right to muzzle you, not when you’re acting as a private citizen.”

Jim seems somewhat mollified, but Bruce clears his throat, effectively claiming everyone’s attention. His jaw is set but Steve is glad to see no hint of green anywhere. 

“So why didn’t you tell us? Were you afraid we’d try to stop you?”

“Oh, I’d definitely talked him outta this stunt,” Tony answers for him. “I know just how I’d’ve done it, too, and I’m telling you, Cap never would have stood a chance.”

Steve turns his palms out, hopefully conveying ‘What he said’ instead of something else. Before Bruce can inquire further, however, Tony whirls around and fixes Steve with another glare. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, by the way? You hate talk shows! You hate those nosy questions about your private life! All that’s suddenly rain under the bridge, or what? ‘Cos Trish’s already complaining about all the requests from other network’s she’s getting, big guy.”

“I needed to get the people to listen –”

“And you decided talking about _me_ would be a good way to get their attention?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Steve growls, recalling the new survey results J.J. showed him shortly before he landed. 

“You’re effectively manipulating public opinion! I really thought you left your propaganda days behind, Steve,” Tony bites back, getting into his space, and Steve barely suppresses a wince at the scathing tone. He knew this was coming. 

“This is nothing like the recruitment drive and you know it.”

“Oh, excuse me, sure – it’s a hell of a lot worse ‘cos it’s subtle and sneaky –”

“What was I supposed to do when the other side has support from at least two of the most powerful lobbies –”

“Did some reading, huh?”

“It’s called research, Tony, something you don’t need to do because guess who’s also backing this bill?”

“Huh, who possibly could you be referring to?”

“The people this bill targets don’t have your resources, Tony. I had to help any way I could. I’ve told you I’d fight this.”

“Oh, I got that memo, Cap. Just a little surprised by how low you’re willing to stoop for something that’s a lost cause.”

Steve grits his teeth, trying and failing not to let the arrogance in Tony’s voice get to him. “Well, sometimes you need to take extreme measures.”

He expects an equally contrite response, but that never comes. 

Instead, Tony’s eyes have widened and are glazing over. Steve narrows his eyes, not sure whether to worry or be amused since Tony’s lips are still parted. “Tony?”

“Extreme measures,” the younger Stark repeats, more to himself by the sound of it. His gaze clears as he visibly returns to the here and now, meeting Steve’s eye with a fiery squint. “You’re brilliant! I love you!” 

Then Tony surges forward, takes Steve’s face between both his hands, smacks a wet kiss onto his lips and pulls back again. “I’ll be in the workshop!”

Steve can only blink after his partner. 

“Uh, what just happened?” Pietro wonders, voicing what everyone in the room is thinking judging by their matching expressions of confusion. 

“He had an idea,” Jim explains slowly. “I’ve seen him like this. Last time he disappeared for forty-seven hours and came back with the blueprints for the Jericho missile.”

“That doesn’t actually make me worry less,” Steve admits. 

“Just don’t expect him to go to bed tonight and you’ll be fine,” Rhodey says, turning towards the others. “Anyone up for something fun? I sure as hell need something to come down now.”

He receives several affirmative responses with only Pietro and Clint bowing out, and Steve tentatively sits down next to Bucky. He lets whatever show Rhodey chose wash over him, glad that no one seems to be holding a grudge for him going off without telling them, but still too preoccupied by Tony’s swift exit to really relax. 

He follows his instincts, which urge him to check up on Tony before he goes to bed, though the engineer doesn’t even notice the can of energy drink Steve brings down as a peace offering. When morning comes and goes without the man emerging from the depth of his workshop, Steve grabs a plate with eggs and bacon and delivers it instead. 

Only Tony still doesn’t realize Steve’s in the room, he’s that immersed in whatever he’s doing, which looks like a cross between a genetics experiment and an engine given the equipment scattered around the area and the schematics floating around. Since he doesn’t want to ruin anything by breaking Tony’s concentration, Steve simply leaves the food and retreats to the gym upstairs to oversee his team and eventually see Clint and Pietro off in the late afternoon. 

Bruce takes over the delivery service that evening, returning with pinched eyebrows and a concerned expression. 

“Let me guess, he didn’t see you either?” Steve asks and gets a shake of the head in return. 

Steve makes the most of his boyfriend-free evening and joins Bucky, Sam, Nat and Wanda, who decided to attend the monthly poker tournament some SHIELD agents set up shortly after everyone moved to the facility back in 2015. Curiously, Jim bows out, citing prior engagements. 

“Don’t ask,” Sam cautions, sounding as if he is speaking from experience. “Bro gets touchy.”

Steve files it away for later and enjoys watching Nat wipe the floor with every player at the poker table. 

*

“What do you think, J.: is Tony going to realize I’m there if I drop by?” Steve wonders aloud, though his question is more rhetorical than anything.

The AI doesn’t seem to understand this, however, or he simply ignores it. “It is twelve per cent less likely that your presence be ignored, Captain Rogers. May I advise you to bring sustenance with you? The smoothie sir consumed for breakfast is unlikely to keep his blood sugar level balanced for long.”

Which is how Steve finds himself back at the workshop door with another plate thirty-seven hours after his boyfriend disappeared. The doors slides open automatically, revealing chaos – the floor is littered with scraps of materials, half the work tables are pushed to one far end of the room still holding prototypes and models Steve has seen before, while the other tables are pooled around Tony in the remaining two thirds of the workshop. There are large holographic boards hovering left of a construction that seems to have a pulsating core emitting blue and red light through its maze of jolts and screws, which in turn is apparently being projected to the right into a three-dimensional model. 

There is also a lot of cursing and shouting going on between a caller and Tony, who is buried inside the physical construction, doing stuff to it that is immediately reflected in the hologram, which in turn appears to be the cause for the man (whom Steve recognizes as the grumpy SI employee from the Launch Fair) in the video call tab next to the giant board to bark at Steve’s boyfriend. 

“Stark, _verdammt_ , I said to adjust the third, not the forth, you imbecile –”

“The forth was too loose, too, you git, which you’d have noticed if you had your fucking reading glasses on.”

“I don’t have reading glasses and you damn well know –”

“Maybe you need some; want me to ask Bruce to write you a prescription?”

“Shut up and fix the stupid valve, Stark; I’ve got plans for Hanukkah.”

“Like you even own a menorah!”

“I have _two_. You gave me one for my birthday three years ago.”

“Did I? Must’ve been Pepper.”

“How are you still alive, Stark?”

“You know, there’s this little chemical reaction called – okay, it’s not just one, and ‘little’ sorta makes it sound unimportant, which it isn’t, and –”

“Stop bumbling; I had chemistry in school, too.”

“I didn’t know they taught chemistry in Germany. You sure it wasn’t something else?”

“I swear to Yahweh, if you make one more Jew joke today, Stark, I’ll quit and accept that job at ThyssenKrupp.”

“You’d _never_! You love me too much…” Tony finally extracts himself from the model and someone – presumably J.J. – runs a simulation on the hologram, which ends in a green “successful” superimposed on the projection. “There, that tight enough for ya, old man? Oh wait, you wouldn’t know.”

“ _Manchmal frag ich mich wirklich, warum ich mir das antue._ ”

Tony tilts his head at the video feed. “I doubt I want to have J.J. translate that.” 

There is a brief pause and Steve pounces on his chance to make his presence known, something that the man on screen has long since gathered. Maybe this is why Steve decides to reply to his statement rather than Tony’s. 

“ _Dieselbe Frage stellen wir uns jeden Tag,_ sir.”

Predictably, Tony startles violently, jumping about a feet to the right while simultaneously whipping around. “Steve! Oh, is that food? What – what did you just say?”

“Nothing important,” Steve assures him with a grin and hands over the sandwich. Tony doesn’t hesitate and digs in, causing the other man to purse his lips. “I’m Steve Rogers,” he introduces himself, nodding at the video feed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.“

“ _Ebenfalls._ Erik Lehnsherr, head of engineering at Stark Industries.”

“I knew about the French – still hot, by the way – but how come I’ve never heard you speak German before?” Tony wonders around a mouthful of food. 

“I guess it never came up.” 

“Anyway, is this breakfast?”

“Lunch, Tony.”

“Lunch? How can it be lunch time already –”

“Because time passes in a linear fashion, Stark,” Lehnsherr grunts. 

“Wait, then when I called you a couple ‘o hours ago –”

“It was three o’clock in the morning in Malibu, yes, Stark.”

“Tony!” Steve chides, yet Tony is already talking over him before he can chide his partner any further. 

“There was a breakthrough! It qualified as an emergency!”

When Steve checks with Lehnsherr, the head engineer nods reluctantly, which intrigues Steve even more as to the nature of their work. “So, what’s all this?”

The grin that takes over Tony’s features is decidedly smug. “Oh, just an engine that doesn’t require fuel.”

Even to Steve’s ears that sounds blasphemous. “Then what does it run on? It’s not an arc reactor; the light’s different.”

“Not just a pretty face after all,” Lehnsherr comments under his breath though Steve ignores the jibe. 

“Nope, not an arc reactor, but something similar. See,” Tony begins, discarding the now empty plate and waving his hands at the hologram until only the core of the model remains. “I couldn’t commercialize the arc reactor ‘cos it’s just too damn expensive to produce the new element every time you build a motor; and the Palladium just sucks ‘cos you’d need to exchange it at regular intervals as it decays. But thanks to your brilliant idea I’ve figured it out!”

“He doesn’t need the details, Stark,” Lehnsherr interrupts. “No one’s going to understand the details except for you and me.”

“Don’t underestimate Capsicle here; he’s a smart cookie, that one. Anyway,” Tony continues, zooming in on the core that looks deceptively similar to the arc reactor but features subtle differences. More than anything, it looks _alive_.

Steve might have said the last part aloud in an awed tone, yet it makes Tony chuckle darkly. “That’s because it is. Well, in the broadest definition of the term. See, it’s not really an arc reactor anymore ‘cos the science is different, but the hardware’s pretty similar. I actually combined the self-sustaining ring but instead of multi-isotopic decay I’m utilizing fusion, and isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve heard all week? I’m getting goose bumps again, ah!” Tony literally jumps up and down twice, shaking his hands as a shiver courses through his body. 

“How was this my idea?” Steve asks, because…. How?

“Extremis!” Tony states, as if it were self-evident. “You said ‘extreme measures’, and bam – brain wave!”

“You have to excuse him, he built his manners into that prototype,” Lehnsherr deadpans, making Steve chuckle and Tony grumble. 

“Well, then you’ll be unsurprised if I tell you to get your ass on the next plane out here. As much as I like picking your brain, I need your practical skills, honey.”

“ _Verdammt nochmal…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My entire knowledge of chemistry derives from Hank Green’s Crash Course series and I owe [this amazing post](http://www.quora.com/What-is-the-theory-concept-behind-the-Miniature-Arc-Reactor-built-by-Tony-Stark) for explaining how the arc reactor might work. 
> 
> The last scene was actually one of the first ones I wrote for this fic, but alas, it took ages for Tony to get his brain wave. Yet I’m too proud of him for solving the world’s energy crisis to be mad :)  
> Anyway: yes, Erik works for SI in this ‘verse, and is not visibly a Mutant as of now. More on this in the next update. 
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:  
> Verdammt (nochmal) = damn  
> Manchmal frag ich mich wirklich, warum ich mir das antue = Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself  
> Die selbe Frage stellen wir uns jeden Tag = We’re asking ourselves the same question every day


	18. Inhuman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost as long as my absence from this verse. It has been finished since October, and that I’m only now getting around to posting it is due to my utter lack of motivation regarding Tony and Steve. (I absolutely loved Civil War, but it hasn't rekindled the flame either.) 
> 
> Plus, I’m really nervous about this chapter: I’m not sure all of you will appreciate how I’m solving MCU’s Mutant/Inhuman problem for Erik here… but it fits so well into my verse! And I love it, so I’m running with it. 
> 
> Aaanyway, here you go, have 10k of Plot and Feels with a capital P and F. Also, we get some Tony backstory :D And more on Carol Danvers! Enjoy!

Bucky stretches next to him and Steve barely evades his best friend’s elbow when he shifts until he is half-splayed across Steve’s lap. On screen, the credits are rolling and Steve picks up several disappointed sighs from his teammates. 

Across from him, Nat shakes Wanda awake who has been asleep ever since the end of the second act.

“If nobody says it, I’m gonna do it,” Sam pipes up. “That was one bad movie, bro.”

Rhodey puts up his hands in defense. “The premise sounded good, and it had good reviews.”

“So did every flick Stevie did after the serum,” Bucky supplies, earning him a slap from Steve. “Ey, you said so yourself!”

“Don’t mean you get to mock them, jerk. They weren’t supposed to be high-class entertainment, just help the war effort.”

“And give the women who were missing their husbands something to ogle,” Nat quips. 

Steve can feel his ears turning red as the rest of the team jeers. 

“Pardon the interruption, Captain Rogers,” J.J.’s voice comes from the ceiling, and Bucky only tenses for a heartbeat before relaxing against Steve’s thigh again, which makes Steve pretty giddy to notice. “I am authorized to commence Protocol Sleeping Beauty.”

“Thanks, J.” 

“What’s that?” Wanda wonders with a chuckle that she follows up with a yawn. 

“It means that Tony’s been awake for more than forty-five hours and Jarvis Junior is allowed to make someone pester him about getting some sleep,” Bruce explains in Steve’s stead, because he’s busy disentangling himself from the mess of limbs on the sofa. Bucky is no help whatsoever, aiming a shit-eating grin up at him when he throws the metal arm over Steve’s legs. 

“There a reason for Stark to be jealous, dude?” Sam teases, already gathering the empty beer bottles from the coffee tables and sidestepping the plastic cap Bucky throws at him. 

“You’re the one who said bromance is okay now.”

“Brother, what you’re doing to Steve here is way past romantic.”

Steve hears the faintest _click_ , glancing up immediately at where it came from only to slump back onto the sofa with a groan when he discovers that Nat just took a picture of him and Bucky. 

“I’m showing that to Stark the next time you tell Agent Callum that I’m cheating at cards.”

“But you _were_ cheating!”

“Says the guy with the two aces up his sleeve,” Nat retaliates, causing Bucky to laugh so hard he literally falls off the couch, finally freeing Steve, who flashes his most innocent grin. 

“What can I say, no one ever thinks I’d play dirty.”

“They shoulda met you in the 30s, Stevie, that’d teach them what a punk you actually are.”

“Huh, I wonder who taught me how to count cards… You remember that, Buck?”

The man in question props himself up on his elbows with a smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to put lover boy to bed, old man?”

Steve grins back, saluting the others. “Good night, team.”

“Good night, Captain America!” everyone except Bruce parrots back, but only because the scientist is laughing too hard to say anything. 

It is heartening to see that whatever animosities any of the Avengers were still harboring because of Steve’s trip to Los Angeles, things are back to normal now. 

On his way down to the workshop, Steve asks J.J. for an update, hoping for a plain English version of what Tony is currently doing. Apparently not much since Lehnsherr signed off ninety minutes ago to get into the car Tony ordered him to take him to LAX, where he is currently boarding the red eye to New York. 

At least Tony booked him into first class, Steve thinks, even though he doubts that something like that will appease the grumpy engineer.

He finds Tony actually sitting down in front of the three monitors at his workstation, head lulling forward and snapping up again when his brain notices he is dozing off. Steve gently removes the pencil from his lover’s right hand and kisses the crown of his head. 

“Time for bed, Tony.”

“No, I gotta –” 

Whatever he’s got to do is swallowed by an enormous yawn, which Tony hides in his left shoulder. It makes for an adorable picture, Steve finds. 

“What time is it?”

“Just after ten.”

“Good, Lehnsherr’s gonna be here in,” another yawn, “when again, J.?”

“His plane is scheduled to land at La Guardia at 6.08 AM, after which he will need approximately another ninety to a hundred and twenty minutes to reach the facility.”

“Great, so I got about eight hours to –”

“Sleep,” Steve says, ignoring any protests that follow his statement until he is literally carrying Tony into the elevator. “Take us upstairs, J.”

“With pleasure, Captain.”

“You totally ganged up on me,” Tony grumbles. “But I gotta say, the view from here’s brilliant.” 

He slaps Steve’s behind lightly, presumably for emphasis.

Once in the suite, Steve deposits Tony on the bed, pushing him back down when the younger Stark tries to get up, mumbling something about a shower. 

“Yeah, you don’t smell too good, but I’m not allowing you on slippery surfaces before you get some sleep, love. Here, put those on.”

He hands Tony a pair of sleep shorts, chuckling when it takes the genius two minutes to realize he’s still wearing his workshop jeans, only to then take another three minutes to wriggle out of them. Steve uses the time to brush his teeth and strip down to his briefs, returning to sleepy brown eyes gazing at him through long lashes. 

“Hm, you’re so hot,” Tony mumbles into the cushion. 

“Not too bad yourself, love.” Steve covers Tony with the blanket before slipping into bed himself, shifting onto his stomach and placing his left hand on Tony’s right one. “Now sleep.”

Tony gives a contented sigh and Steve settles into the position, certain the other man will be dead to the world within a heartbeat, but apparently Tony’s brain has other plans. 

“Wait, didn’t we have a fight?” 

Steve blinks his eyes open again to find his partner’s staring back, apprehensive and more than a little vulnerable. 

“Yeah. But we can pick that up in the morning, if you want.”

“Let’s not,” Tony sighs, shuffling closer until their foreheads touch and Steve can throw an arm over his boyfriend. 

“All right.”

“Love you,” Tony murmurs, and his body relaxes into sleep before Steve is finished saying it back. 

*

Tony is torn from a truly amazing dream in which the world is full of rainbows and clean, self-sustaining buildings, and machines running on Prometheus tech when J.J. tells him that “Mr. Lehnsherr’s plane is experiencing severe turbulences of unknown origin.”

He groans, shifting onto his back and feeling Steve sit up next to him.

“Where’s the plane, J.?”

“En route to New York, approximately thirty minutes to landing.”

“What do you mean, turbulence?” Steve asks while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Tony glances at the clock – 5.45 AM. Wonderful. 

J.J. explains that Lehnsherr’s flight has been experiencing slight to moderate turbulences for the past two hours, yet they have progressed to severe with no indication as to why the fuck it’s actually happening.

“You sayin’ this might be SHIELD stuff?” Tony says around a yawn. 

“My evidence is inconclusive, sir.”

“Alright, patch me through to the plane; I wanna talk to Lehnsherr.”

“Can you do that?” Steve wonders, making Tony laugh. 

“Darling, I own a majority of the shares of that airline. Of course they’re gonna patch me through.”

“You own an airline?”

“Part of one. Parts of several, actually, mostly to get reductions when I’m flying my employees all across the globe,” Tony explains, distracted by his ongoing search for his headset. “Aha!” 

He slips it on and in no time is snapping at a stewardess who has been noticing that Erik hasn’t been feeling well, but she didn’t really think it necessary to tell anyone. 

“Are you new to your job, miss?” Tony snarls, “’Cause when someone’s obviously not doing too great it’s part of your job to check on them!”

“He insisted he’s fine!” she argues, and only Steve’s hand on his shoulder stops Tony from flipping out completely. Damn, he hates incompetence more than anything else in the world. 

That he is fine, however, is not something Erik can’t attest to being fine in person, however, ‘cause he’s not reacting to voices anymore. At this point Tony hands the call over to Steve who declares the case SHIELD jurisdiction and shares a few words with the pilots while Tony rushes down the hall to wake Bruce since they’re definitely going to need a doctor. 

The three of them land in La Guardia just as Erik’s plane touches down. The engineer in question is white as a sheet with beads of sweat making his forehead glisten when Tony tears through the hatchet and into the aircraft. 

“Lehnsherr, you son of a bitch, come on!”

“Tony, give me some space,” Bruce orders and Tony steps back. The rest of the first class passengers are being herded into the airport through economy, giving them the entire compartment to themselves. 

Bruce lets the tripod do its magic, then takes quick blood samples after checking Lehrsherr’s vitals. The man groans at the touch, and the plane _creaks_. 

Everyone freezes. 

There aren’t any further weird sounds, so Bruce continues. Tony sees the worry lines on his forehead deepen the longer he looks at the readings. 

“Well? What?”

Bruce swallows, not glancing his way. “Preliminary blood results match those of Jiao Chengyu.“

“Who the fuck is Jiao Chengyu?”

Now Bruce is looking at him, both eyebrows raised. “Stark Industries’ head of R&D in Beijing? The one who died recently? The one whose cause of death is related to the Fish Oil poisonings?”

All the blood leaves Tony’s face as the meaning of what Bruce is telling him registers. His intestines feel like they’ve been shock-frozen. He wets his lips, willing his voice to remain steady even though is pulse isn’t. 

“But – Lehnsherr’s still alive. You gotta keep him that way, Bruce – you can, right?”

The doctor brings a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “I can try. He’ll need to be started on dialysis, and probably a transfusion, but I can’t do that here.”

“Then let’s roll, come one!” 

Yet just as Bruce and Steve begin to move Erik from the first class seat to the gurney, the airplane gives another lurch. This time, though, the outer wall behind Bruce gets a very obvious dent in the process. 

“You saw that, right?” Tony babbles while Steve is already going into Cap Mode and barking orders at the flight personnel to check the outside of the plane. Tony is about to follow them out ‘cause even though his friend’s life hangs in the balance, he’s still too curious for his own good. Only thing is – something pulls him back.

“Woah!” he cries, arms flailing, but he follows the invisible tug that’s pulling the dog tag necklace underneath his shirt back towards the plane’s interior, back to Lehnsherr. 

In that instance, Tony’s brain supplies one of the most staggering deductions it has ever deduced, and the entire thing suddenly becomes crystal clear. 

“Ey, Lehnsherr,” he tells the still unresponsive man, placing a hand on his arm, “listen up, buddy. We’re gonna need to move you ‘cause you’re sick as hell. I know you’d rather die of pneumonia than actually see a doctor, don’t believe I didn’t hear about last winter, ‘cause I definitely did and this shit won’t fly now. So you’re going to calm down and let Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner lift you onto the gurney, and then we’re gonna take you straight to the Avengers facility. See? No hospital,” the dent behind Bruce deepens without warning, “damn it, Lehnsherr, I said _no_ hospital, you moron!”

By now Tony’s fully aware of Steve’s impressed gaze upon him and he tries not to blush too hard. Instead he keeps up the stream of chatter, switching over to recapping their progress on Project Prometheus when they’re embarking on the quinjet, and somehow the metallic rattling as well as the turbulence keeps to a minimum. 

Tony stays with Bruce and his head engineer until the latter has calmed down and is having blood pumped into him while his own is undergoing dialysis under the watchful eyes of Helen and Bruce. 

Steve, meanwhile, has updated the other members of their team who have assembled in the waiting area of the facility’s medical wing, pulling Tony close when he finally ventures out of Lehnsherr’s room. 

Barnes is the first to speak up. “Please tell me there’s footage of you playin’ nursemaid, Stark!” 

“This ain’t funny, Terminator.”

“Hey,” Steve warns, his arm around Tony’s shoulder tightening. “I get that you’re tired and worried, but no name-calling.”

“It’s fine, punk, I can handle your girlfriend bitching at me just fine.”

Tony opens his mouth to snark back, grateful for the opportunity to release some of the anger and fear at a willing target, but the arrival of none other than Phil Coulson and Maria Hill makes the reply die in his throat. 

“What the hell you doing here?”

Unsurprisingly, the insult rolls right off Maria. “We heard of what happened. We’re here to take Mr. Lehnsherr into SHIELD custody.”

“Oh no, no way!” Tony protests, shrugging off Steve’s arm and stepping between Hill, Coulson, and the door to medical. “Avengers took him in, we’re gonna deal with him, too.”

“Do you even know what’s wrong with him?” Coulson cuts in, his voice as calm as ever and Tony hopes Barton clocks him again. The archer has gone perfectly still and even though his face betrays nothing, Tony can tell the guy is torn between bolting and doing just that. 

“Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho are still running tests,” Steve supplies, obviously trying to smooth the waves, but Tony doesn’t care. 

“He’s an Inhuman, isn’t he?” 

The way Hill and Coulson’s heads snap up in sync with matching deer-in-the-headlights looks (for a split second before they’ve schooled them again, stupid spies, taking all the fun out of this) is totally worth the early wake up call, Tony decides. 

“I figured it out on the plane. Gotta hand it to ya, Agent, not connecting the dots for us in the briefing was clever.”

“Tony,” Steve says, but it’s his Cap voice and the inflection is enough for him to convey Tony better explain that in layman’s terms immediately. 

“Alright, alright, alright, I’ll show off.” He pulls out his phone as he speaks, explaining how Pepper told him in May that three of SI’s employees had died of unknown causes and that neither Bruce nor Helen were able to find anything except a few abnormalities in the blood samples. “They eventually matched the values to those of other people whose deaths have been attributed to those weird Fish Oil poisonings our dear Director told us about in February, but even when SHIELD investigated the producers, they couldn’t find anything unsavory. But see, not everyone who presented with the symptoms died.”

Tony pulls up a few hospital files Bruce unearthed just one and a half weeks ago and has his AI project them onto the floor for all to see. 

“And now they – this is good, really inconspicuous; kudos, Coulson – they disappeared. They didn’t die, but after the hospital released them or transferred them – that was some nice blurring of your traces, though, Agent – they simply vanished. So when Lehnsherr started bending metal on that plane, it got me thinking.”

Steve’s gasp is barely audible as he reaches the same conclusion Tony did. “There’s something in the Fish Oil that’s giving people powers.”

Tony snaps his fingers at the man with a grin. “Bingo, Cap!”

“What makes you so sure Lehnsherr is even taking nutritional supplements?” Hill sneers. “Or have you increased the surveillance on all your employees?”

“Oh, Maria,” Tony gives a fake sigh as he shakes his head in equally fake dejection. “I know more about my friends than anyone gives me credit for.”

Whatever comment Hill had in store, probably something about how Tony doesn’t have friends he’s not paying or some such… well, it’s basically true. But not important right now – what’s important is Coulson interrupting their squabble with a raised hand. 

“That’s some impressive detective work, Mr. Stark, but I’m afraid we can’t allow the subject to remain at the facility. If what you said is true and he can bend metal, then he needs to be somewhere safe to get used to his powers in case he survives the next few hours.”

“Oh, like where you shipped those others off to?”

Coulson inclines his head. Tony can sense the rest of the Avengers tensing up to his right. 

“Nope, I got a better idea. I’m gonna call Xavier and then _he_ is going to take a look at my chief engineer, and _then_ he is going to take him outta your sticky fingers and back to Westchester where I can keep an eye on him.”

“No can do, Stark,” Hill snaps. “He poses a danger to everyone around him; we can’t place him in a _school_.”

“Oh yes, you can,” Tony asserts, meeting Coulson’s eye in a way that hopefully transmits his message clear enough for the Director to gather. Understanding dawns on the man after Tony’s eyes briefly flicker over to the rest of the Avengers, especially to Steve. Tony wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk. 

You see, as much as Coulson wants to get his hands on Lehnsherr, what he wants more is to keep certain things Tony knows secret from certain righteous individuals who would take offense at SHIELD cooperating with the likes of General Ross or covertly building a prison for superhumans, confidentiality be damned. 

You could hear a needle drop in the waiting area while everyone is waiting for Coulson’s reaction. 

“Very well, Mr. Stark. But if Mr. Xavier declines, we are going to take him into custody as planned.”

“But sir!” Hill protests, though her mouth snaps shut at the glare she gets from Coulson. 

Tony is already scrolling through his contacts, aiming a smirk at the rest of the team who all seem very, very intrigued. If Tony had any of his attention to spare, he’d be worried about the way Natasha’s brow is creasing. 

He ambles down the hallway where he came from to evade prying ears (yeah, he’s using a cell phone in a medical wing – deal with it) and his thumb hovers over Xavier’s name for a moment. 

While the professor-slash-Mutant-Rights-activist and he have never really become friends, they are close enough for Tony to have his number. However, it is always Charles who calls Tony up for money or other capital, never the other way around (no, sneaky little Directors manipulating him into calling Xavier don’t count). 

It’s not about Tony, though – it’s about Erik. 

Tony hits the call button on an exhale. Xavier picks up after just two rings and a look at the nearest clock explains that is because it’s currently what some people, namely teachers and students, might consider lunch hour. 

“I need your help, Xavier,” is what he opens with, chuckling when the usually so eloquent Xavier flails a little. 

“Wha- Tony?”

“Doesn’t your phone have caller-ID? Never mind, I built your phone, I know it’s got caller-ID.”

“What happened?”

“Okay, so no chit-chat… I have an individual here with a case of sudden onset of powers, and the Director is about to kidnap said individual, but I’m not handing my best engineer over to SHIELD. For real, do they take me for a complete idiot?”

“Wait – engineer? It’s not a child?” 

“Nope, this ain’t a case of some poor schmuck presenting as a Mutant, I’m afraid. Can’t tell you much ‘cause you need to get your ass on a jet, but Lehnsherr here can bend metal, which is awesome and all, and surely one day it’s gonna be super useful, but right now his powers are leaking all over the place, so…”

It’s true – Lehnsherr already killed three stethoscopes. 

“So you thought he might benefit from a change in scenery,” Charles finishes his thought. 

“Ha, almost as if you’d read my mind, Xavier.”

“Too bad that does not work over phone lines.”

“I should get working on that, right?” he quips, only to earn a resounding “No, Tony,” from the other man. “Right.” He swallows. “Just… hurry, okay?” 

Something in his tone must have clued Xavier in that this is actually serious (you know, in case the fact that Tony actually called him didn’t do that already), for he promises to be there asap. 

He finds the Avengers engaged in a staring contest with Coulson and Hill upon his return, and both the Director and the agent remain rooted to the spot when Tony tells them it’s handled and Xavier will be there soon. He slips back into medical then, for one to avoid the questions clearly written all over Steve’s face, and for another to fill Bruce and Helen in on what’s going on. 

Lehnsherr is looking infinitely better already; still pale but less sweaty. Also, the appliances aren’t rattling anymore. 

“His systems are stabilizing,” Bruce confirms. “We’re running DNA tests to compare them to the ones on record with Stark Industries to gauge the effect that whatever caused the symptoms had on his genome.”

“Awesome.” 

When Tony makes no move to leave, Bruce cocks an eyebrow at him. Tony replies with a pointed look, eliciting a sigh from the scientist, aka permission to hang around and avoid the inquisition. As his primary physician, Bruce knows more than anyone else about Tony’s wild twenties, but judging by the squinting Steve’s been doing ever since Tony calmed Lehnsherr down on the plane, he’s gonna have to fess up soon. 

Just then, Steve enters the room. _Speak of the devil…_

“I ordered the team back to training. The Director and Hill don’t seem to be going away any time soon, but they agreed to stay outside the medical wing.”

“They’d better,” Tony grumbles, blinking when Steve holds something under his nose. It’s his tablet. “Gawd, I love you!”

Steve’s tense expression slips into a smile. “I love you, too. Even when you’re disobeying direct orders from the Director.”

“You mean ‘especially’, right?”

The glint in Steve’s eyes is confirmation enough. Tony wants nothing more than to return to where he left Prometheus the night before, but unfortunately Steve’s still there, showing no sign of wanting to leave. 

“You gonna join the others with training? I know you get grumpy when you’re missing your morning run… and combat training… and –”

“I wanted to be here for you.”

“And grill me about how I know so much about this Kraut here?” Tony jokes, pinching Lehnsherr’s arm lightly. 

Steve nods, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t know the two of you were so close.”

“Well, we met at a really bad time of my life, so telling you would’ve meant telling you about that, and…” He waves his hand, hoping the gesture will encompass all that he’s trying to convey. 

His partner’s lips twitch at that. “You mean your ‘wild twenties’?”

“Yeah.”

“I do know how to type your name into Google, love.”

“But like the gentleman you are, you didn’t,” Tony replies without missing a beat, only to then tilt his head at Steve. “Did you?”

“No. I decided to wait for it to come up.”

“Oh, like you waited for Howard to come up as a topic… How’d that turn out for you again?”

Steve shrugs, though it seems a little forced. “It’s not a race. There’s no award for the first of us who figures out all of the other’s secrets.”

“But you’re disappointed I haven’t told you yet,” Tony fills in the gaps. 

Steve’s expression turns a little pained. “Well, yeah.” 

It’s only fair, Tony muses. Steve’s been pretty open about his past, about growing up at that point between the Golden Twenties and the Great Depression, his mother’s illness, how he came to be friends with Bucky, how he worked as an illustrator before successfully enlisting… Tony answered in kind with stories of his own, but somehow ended up censoring everything that featured Howard in one way or another, or his cocaine years, or too much about his stint as Merchant of Death… 

Yeah, in retrospect Tony has been less than forthcoming. 

“Alright, story time!” he announces after a beat, pulling Steve towards the armchair on the other side of Lehnsherr’s bed only to push him down and then take up residence on his lap. 

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though, and wraps his arms around Tony, whose back is against the left armrest and whose feet are dangling over the other one. 

“I mentioned I had a couple of wild years in my twenties, right? What with the cocaine and all?”

Steve nods, his fingers starting to rub circles into Tony’s hipbone through the fabric of his pants. “That how you met Erik?”

“Sorta. I spiraled a bit out of control after my parents died – I was the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company, had more money than I knew what to do with, and anyway, everyone wanted a piece of me. I partied, I slept around, accepted all the drugs people offered, found I really, _really_ loved the constant high that cocaine gave me… Did some of my most inspired engineering back then, which is why Obi didn’t try to get me to stop, I think. Was arrested a couple o’ times, but we always managed to shove that under the rug…”

Steve’s jaw clenches, so Tony barges on before Captain Righteous can criticize him for… yeah, paying off police officers. It does sound pretty awful in retrospect. 

“But that one time in ’98 there’s this journalist who’s been stalking me a bit, and the guy caught the arrest on camera. I had a couple grams of coke in the car, my blood alcohol was way beyond the legal limit, I mouthed off to the cop…”

“And all you got was time in rehab?” Steve asks, not quite able to keep the anger from coloring his voice. 

“Well, I did tell you I used to be an entitled dick, didn’t I? Obi threw his weight around a little, but they just _had to_ convict me ‘cause the pics were making the rounds literally everywhere… But it was, technically, my first offense, so they stuck me in rehab. I wasn’t gonna take it seriously, but Obi ordered me to get clean; said I was hurting the company’s image and Howard would be ashamed, yada yada yada, so yeah, I tried. But it was fucking hard, okay?”

“I believe you,” Steve promises, rubbing his back and Tony realizes his breathing’s been speeding up, as did his pulse. 

“Uh, thanks…” Once his lungs are working again, Tony goes on. “The first two weeks, I managed to get my hands on stuff. Obi had the nurse fired who supplied me, so I had no way to get my hands on more… I was sulking outside when I met the janitor, this grumpy kid maybe a year younger than I was, never talked to anyone and kept glaring the appliances into submission –”

“Let me guess – Lehnsherr?”

“Yup,” Tony grins. “Did some digging, found out he did six months for aggravated battery, thought I could get him to become my new dealer. Boy, that backfired.” 

“Battery?” Steve interrupts, obviously dubious. Tony gets it – while Lehnsherr is perpetually angry at the world, he wouldn’t strike anyone as particularly violent. 

“Not really my story to tell, darling, but… Well, back in ’93 some anti-zionist set a clothing store on fire. Killed the owners and their young manager. Manager was pregnant, so in total that’s four homicides. The girl was Lehnsherr’s wife, the owners his parents.”

Steve curses, pulling Tony closer to himself. “So he found the guy that did it and attacked him.”

“Pretty much. Didn’t kill him, fortunately, but still banged him up pretty bad. Once he got out, no one wanted to hire him with being a felon and all, until he finally got a job at the rehab facility.” 

Tony smiles as he recalls the hours and hours he spent with Lehnsherr after the guy was off work, arguing hydraulics and which metal was superior. “Used to slap the back of my head a lot. Didn’t rat me out when I asked him to deal for me, though, just kept an eye on me from then on. Once I got over the initial anger and actually talked to him a bit more, I found out he went to MIT, too, and that he’s actually an engineer.”

Steve’s lips curl into a smile. “You offered him a job.”

“’Course I did!” Tony says. “Mostly as a thank you for helping me get through rehab, but also ‘cause the guy’s really talented. Wasted on broken lamps and unhinged doors.”

“And someone needed to keep you in line, Stark,” a gravelly voice interrupts, causing both Steve and Tony’s heads to whip around to where Lehnsherr is blinking at the bright lights inside the room. 

Tony is out of Steve’s lap in the blink of an eye. “Lehnsherr! Shalom, my favorite Jew!” Lehnsherr glares. “Well, guess the fish oil didn’t give you happier genes.”

“Wha –” the man begins, but Tony talks over him, giving him the cliff notes of what happened and by the time he is finished, Bruce and Helen have joined them. 

“Sir, Professor Xavier and Hank McCoy are approaching the waiting area.”

“Thanks, J.,” Tony says with a bright grin, squeezing Lehnsherr’s arm. “That’s your ride, buddy.”

His head engineer does not look happy in the slightest about this turn of events, at least if the rattling hospital bed is anything to go by. 

“Cut that out, you oaf! It’s either Xavier or SHIELD.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Lehnsherr grumbles just as Steve returns with Charles and McCoy in tow. 

Tony eventually ensures Lehnsherr’s cooperation by promising to send him a tablet with the Prometheus specs and keeping him involved (despite Xavier’s vocal protests) and then sees the group off to Xavier’s jet while Steve looks for the rest of the Avengers. 

That also has the nice side effect that Tony’s alone when he confronts Coulson and Hill upon his return from the airfield. 

“If he harms any Mutant children, that’s on you, Stark,” Coulson feels the need to stress with Hill glaring daggers at him from the side. 

“Nah, Xavier will mind-meld him before he lets that happen. He’s worse than a mother hen protecting her chicks with those kids, seriously.”

Coulson doesn’t dignify that with a response. He does order Hill to stay behind and brief the Avengers on the Inhumans, though, so that’s something. Apparently the cat’s out of the bag now. She doesn’t tell them much, however, mostly that SHIELD’s still looking for the Terrigen crystals that are supposedly the root of this entire mess. What she doesn’t tell them – refuses to, actually – is _why_ these crystals are having such an effect on select individuals instead of causing an epidemic. Or would that be a pandemic?

Tony shakes his head, turning his attention back on Steve who’s currently arguing with Hill about what SHIELD’s doing with the so-called Inhumans, that is those individuals who don’t die from the poisoning but rather develop superhuman abilities, not unlike those of Mutants. 

“They are secure, Captain, which is all you need to know.”

“You’re training them, aren’t you?” Natasha cuts in. Her posture is relaxed but Tony’s learnt to read her eyes over the past couple of years. That woman is more than furious. 

“I cannot answer that question, Agent Romanoff.”

“Then let me phrase it as a statement,” Widow adjusts. “You’re training them and keeping it a secret, just like you’re deflecting from the question of why these people developed powers in the first place while others died.”

“It is _classified_ ,” Hill insists, rising from her chair at the conference table. “And you would all do well to forget about it. There aren’t any electronic files for you to hack into, Mr. Stark, so don’t even try.”

“Been there, done that,” Tony singsongs.

“We have a right to know,” Steve says for the third time, and just like the other two, Hill shoots him down with a twitch of her eyebrow and a sermon on the chain of command and security clearance levels that has Steve fuming and the rest of the team bristling. 

Steve effectively kicks Hill out after that, leaving only the team behind. 

“What’s the plan?” Barnes is the first to ask, his tone brisk and a hundred per cent Winter Soldier. 

The decidedly wicked gleam in Steve’s eyes, Tony decides, is now officially his favorite Cap Face. By the looks of his fellow Avengers, the sentiment is mutual. 

“Now, we misbehave.”

*

_07/20/2016_  
_Stephen Arnell, Associated Press_  
_SHRA PUT ON CALENDAR BEFORE SENATE BREAKS FOR SUMMER_

_In its last session before the summer holidays, the US Senate effectively put the Superhuman Registration Act on the calendar. The bill moves forward despite efforts of the Senators of Massachusetts to filibuster the legislation, riding off a wave of anti-SHRA sentiment caused by Steve Rogers’ outspoken opposition towards it. However, the needed supermajority was reached and the filibuster effectively ended in time to put the bill on the calendar._  
It would have even happened sooner, yet ever since the PATRIOT Act, hurried through Congress in record time in 2001, turned out to be a juridical nightmare of vagueness and loopholes, bills have to be debated for a minimum number of sessions before they are eligible for a vote.  
In comparison to the legislature initially proposed by the Senators of Nebraska, only one major change occurred, namely striking the clause that would make the Superhuman database public. The decision to remove this clause was finalized after President Ellis had endorsed Tony Stark’s argument against this regulation, which the superhero voiced during his testimony in March.  
In case of the SHRA, the Senatorial vote is going to take place on 15th September, moving the bill to the House of Representatives in October. Opponents of the SHRA have argued that the scheduling is intended to manipulate Congressmen into voting for the legislation since October also marks the anniversary of the attack on the school in Chadron, Nebraska. 

*

When Steve returns from a quick and uneventful mission in South America with Wanda, Vision, and Sam on in the third week of June, Tony is once again buried in Prometheus so Steve leaves him to it. The next try for Barton’s covert job, codename “Mission: Misbehave”, isn’t scheduled until tomorrow, so there is nothing Steve has to do. He is itching for something, however, preferably the fight he didn’t get while in his gear. 

“J., could you locate Bucky for me?”

“Of course Captain Rogers. Sergeant Barnes is currently in the gym.”

Strange. Usually Bucky spends Wednesday evenings after dealing with first-year SHIELD recruits all afternoon on the couch, moving as little as possible. Things only get stranger from there, because when Steve enters the gym Bucky isn’t alone. 

Natasha is wrapping her legs around Bucky’s neck, aiming to propel him to the ground like Steve has seen her do countless times to Hydra thugs, yet Bucky doesn’t come down. Instead he uses her momentum to turn it against her, throwing her off until she is the one on her back while Bucky twists her arms behind her back and pins her with a knee. 

“Cдаюсь!” Nat gasps, and Bucky is off her in a heartbeat. 

Steve blinks. “I have a feeling that I’ve missed something.”

Bucky, of course, made him the second Steve entered the gym and isn’t startled. “Nah, it’s our first session. Won’t be our last.” 

“I’m going easy on you,” Nat says, but she’s scowling as she straightens her workout top and leggings. 

“Whatever, babydoll.”

Now _that_ was the wrong thing to say and suddenly Bucky is lying on the floor with Nat grinning down at him after she pulled his feet out from under him. Steve could have told him how Widow hates monikers like that, but knowing the man, he doubts Bucky would have listened anyway.

“Can I join?” Steve ventures when neither Avenger says anything else, and after both nod in assent, Steve puts down his water bottle and towel and steps onto the mats. 

He has been sparring quite a bit with Bucky, and Widow and him often work together on missions which makes it fairly easy to hold his own when they are all fighting each other. Once Bucky and Nat team up on him, however, Steve really has to up his ante. 

There is something about their movements that is similar. Steve has noticed it back in January when they integrated the Winter Soldier into their training schedule, yet he didn’t think it wise to call attention to it, unsure whether or not they wanted to talk about it. 

As it is, they make an effective team in close-range combat and soon Steve is the one pressed to the floor, panting for breath. 

“Do you yield, punk?” Bucky mocks, digging the fingers of his metal hand a little deeper into Steve’s skin. 

He wriggles again but fails to find purchase. Unable to throw either of them off, Steve yields. 

“Twenty-three minutes. I’m sure we can do better,” Nat concludes with a look at the clock, grinning broadly. 

“I betcha,” Bucky agrees around the mouth of his water bottle. 

Steve decides it’s time to steer the conversation away from his apparent defeat and into more interesting pastures. He motions between the two Avengers. “When did this happen, anyway? I’ve been suggesting you two bond for months.”

Bucky and Nat exchange poignant looks that Steve is unable to decipher. They must have reached a decision of some sort, for Bucky says, “Well, we had a good reason now.”

“What?”

“You remember the stare off between Stark and the Director last week?”

“Yes,” Steve ventures, not sure where this is going. 

“See, Stevie,” Bucky continues, placing his flesh hand on Steve’s shoulder, “the Director went along with your boyfriend’s suggestion awfully quickly, wouldn’t you say?”

“Lehnsherr is a Stark Industries employee; SHIELD doesn’t have –”

“Of course SHIELD has jurisdiction,” Nat interrupts. “Coulson just didn’t decide to press the issue.”

“And you’re thinking… what, exactly?”

Another exchanged glance. This time it is Nat who explains, “That Tony’s hiding something. Something that has to do with Coulson, maybe a side project he hasn’t told us about. Whatever it is, Coulson doesn’t want the Avengers to find out.”

Steve crosses his arms as he looks between his teammates. “What evidence are you basing this on?”

“My gut,” Bucky snaps.

“And years of experience dealing with both SHIELD and Stark,” Natasha adds. 

Steve breathes in through his nose. “So why’re you telling _me_?” He already has a theory, which the others confirm with two pairs of simultaneously raised eyebrows. “Oh, good. Sic the boyfriend on Iron Man because you aren’t sure enough to do it yourselves.”

“No, big guy – you’re just in a way better position to get information out of him.”

“You’re saying that as if he’s a mission, Widow.”

“Maybe in this case he is.”

“I am not spying on my partner,” Steve growls, only to have Bucky shove him a little harder than necessary. 

“Even if he’s already doing it to ya?”

Red, hot anger unfurls in Steve’s chest and he can feel his hands balling into fist at his sides. “I asked him not to check on me when I did the interview. He listened. I’m not gonna break his trust by snooping around just because your _gut_ is telling you something, Buck.”

“But Steve,” Nat starts again, though Bucky has known Steve longer than anyone and thus he can tell that arguing now would be a lost cause. He holds her back with a hand on her shoulder, cutting off her words abruptly. 

“If you’re so sure Tony’s hiding something,” Steve say through gritted teeth, “then darn well _ask_ him. He’s your teammate, not a damn op. Understood?”

Two synchronous though reluctant “Yes, Cap!” follow his question. He turns on his heels and leaves the gym before either he or one of the others does something they’ll regret. 

He is secretly proud of them when they actually do round on Tony once the team is about to reassemble in the living room after Sam spent dinner relating the story of their epic boredom in the summer heat of Brazil.

“Stark, Natasha and I got a question for you.”

“Shoot. But please, not literally.”

“I’m afraid Steve wouldn’t like that,” Nat says with a grin. 

“Perfectly sound assessment, Romanoff.”

Tony steals a quick kiss with a cooing, “I’m touched, Captain Fluff,” before looking expectantly at Bucky and Natasha. 

Never one to mince words when not actually necessary, Nat cuts to the chase immediately. Tony’s face remains unchanging throughout her accusations, but his eyes grow shifty. Steve straightens where he is leaning against the refrigerator, waiting for Tony’s response.

“So let me get this straight – you’re saying I’ve got leverage over Coulson?”

“Or intel he doesn’t want to share with the group,” Bucky adds.

“And if I had such intel, you’re saying I’d have to tell you guys?” Nat and Bucky nod in unison. “Even if it absolutely doesn’t impact the team in any way whatsoever? What if it’s confidential?”

“Since when do you care about confidentiality?” Buck points out and Steve can feel his hackles rising. 

“Since, oh, I don’t know, Coulson threatened me with indictment if I didn’t?”

“What?” Steve snaps, not even sure himself what he is reacting to – the fact that the Director would do that, or the fact that Tony just admitted to having intel he has kept a secret. 

“So you do have leverage?” Nat pushes, and Tony’s eyes dart around the room where the rest of the team is watching before giving an eloquent shrug, which makes Steve take a step forward. 

“Tony, this is exactly the kind of thing we’ve decided not to do anymore.”

His lover whips around, arms spread. “Oh, so you want me to go to jail? ‘Cause Coulson means business, Cap. He won’t hesitate to court martial me, and then where’ll we be?”

Steve swallows. Tony is sincere, he can tell, but that doesn’t mean Coulson is below bluffing to protect SHIELD’s secrets. 

“Are you a hundred per cent sure this won’t impact the team?”

“I said that, didn’t I? Hasn’t changed in the past two minutes.”

“Yet once it does, you are going to tell us?”

Instead of making a colorfully embellished promise, Tony simply nods solemnly. Steve returns it, turning towards Bucky and Natasha with a pointed look and a, “Good enough for me.”

There is a moment of silence in which two pairs of eyes dart from Steve to his partner, to the respective other, though eventually the mistrust gives way to acceptance. 

“Now was that so hard?” Steve prompts with a grin, and Tony immediately connects the dots. 

“Oh, they wanted you to ask, didn’t they?” Tony spins around towards the others again, spreading his hands and grinning smugly. “I didn’t know I was that imposing! Is it the air of success? Or my boundless charm? Or the way I managed to film Cap humming show tunes?”

Steve, who has been fishing some juice out of the fridge, splutters at that. He will forever deny the embarrassed squeak that escaped him, though. 

But Tony is aiming an innocent smile at him. “I only shared it with the team, okay? And Rhodey’s ten seconds away from just pushing his entire music library onto your computer ‘cause he’s _too shy to actually talk to you about your blatent love for The Book Of Mormon_!”

The last half of the sentence was said louder and in the direction of where the man in question is already nursing a beer, only to glance up with a glint in his eyes. 

“I was gonna say something, Tones, I’m secure enough about my masculinity for that.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling,” Tony shoots back, pulling Steve towards him by the loops of his jeans. “I think we got derailed a little. Where were we?”

“You were monologuing,” Nat supplies, “and we were done, actually.”

“Yeah, good talk, Widow! And Winter. Winter Soldier. It’s really not a good superhero name to abbreviate, is it? Too bad Capsicle’s taken… “

“I don’t need a nickname, Tinman,” Bucky says, but telling Tony something isn’t necessary is the best way to actually get him to do said something, so the next twenty minutes pass with Tony coming up with suggestions that get more absurd by the minute. 

Bucky’s actually laughing, however, so Steve just basks in the jovial atmosphere. 

*

Carol hates being late with an absolute passion, but it cannot be helped if the Minister of Defense is taking too long to get to his point for Carol to leave work on time. Usually she has no problem with overtime – something HR has recently been dismayed to discover – but today someone is waiting in her quarters. 

“I’m so sorry, Aqueela,” Carol pants as soon as her door has fallen shut behind her. 

She shouldn’t have worried, for the tan woman obviously brought her StarkBook like the fellow workaholic that she is. “No problem, girl; I’ve heard the Minister is a tattletale. And we still have an hour.”

Carol nods, motioning towards her bathroom and Aqueela sends her to shower and change with a smile and a nod before disappearing inside whatever flux of information she is currently analyzing until Carol is dressed. 

“Nice jewelry, Danvers!” Aqueela comments from the door to her bedroom with a glance at Carol’s matching watch, necklace and earrings. “Where did you get them?”

“Tony,” she says, half of her attention still on her reflection in the large mirror outside of her wardrobe. She would love nothing more than to wear her dress blues, but her aunt asked her to “wear something nice” since Carol wasn’t attending her big vernissage as Colonel Danvers, but as a civilian. Unfortunately, all things clothing and styling are not Carol’s forte. 

Thus the presence of Aqueela, who might be a self-proclaimed computer geek, yet thanks to years of amateur theater experience and personal preference knows her way around an eyelash curler like Carol does around a M16A2. 

“Tony who?”

“Huh?” Carol draws her eyes away from her pale red blouse to where Aqueela is looking expectantly at her. “Oh, Stark. It was a three month anniversary present.”

At least the necklace and the earrings – the watch was actually an official piece of tech, containing an uplink to Stark’s AI, SHIELD channels, as well as a button that releases one of the Scarlet Edge protective bubbles. The additional jewelry was simply included in Carol’s package, which Stark handed over with permission to call him by his first name and a brief announcement of matching jewelry being a necessity. For whom, however, he did not say. 

Aqueela gives a low whistle. “Sometimes I forget how high up you are.”

“Says the woman in charge of the Situation Room.”

“I just update files and compile briefings, girl; you plan missions and talk to important people.”

Carol shakes her head, unable to stifle a chuckle. Aqueela’s modesty was initially what Carol liked about her when they first met prior to a joint mission she planned, especially since Aqueela would have every reason to be arrogant about her job as Chief Analyst for the Avengers Initiative as well as the SHIELD app. It was she who caught the signs early enough to prevent even more casualties in Hong Kong last month. 

Aqueela pulls her away from the mirror and onto a chair in her living room to where her beauty case is waiting. “Now, what are your thoughts on your hair?” 

Carol shrugs, eying the case warily. “My aunt only said, ‘dress nice’. Nothing about the hair.”

“What would you do without me, dear?”

“Die without knowing how much liquid mascara burns when you get it in your eyes.”

“Ya khara, just shut up and let me work my magic.”

It is why Carol invited her over, so she obeys, moving her head or closing her eyes when instructed. The result is nice, she has to admit – the makeup barely registers and her shoulder length blonde hair is pulled back into a loose bun not unlike what she prefers to wear, only prettier with a few strands untucked artistically. 

It works well with the navy blue lady suit, the blouse and matching accessories. No one will ever notice her prosthetics… she hopes. 

Aqueela hugs her from behind, grinning at her through the mirror. “Colonel Rhodes won’t know what hit him.”

Carol snorts, pushing the negative thoughts aside. “You say that as if this is a date.”

“Oh, it’s not?”

“We’re friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“Carol, dear, the height of your social life is a soda in the cafeteria after an eighteen hour emergency shift unless Colonel Rhodes is asking you to binge watch a TV show. And now you’re taking him to your aunt’s opening night.”

“He’s a colleague.”

“So is Captain Rogers, who as far as I’m aware actually knows a thing or two about art. I’m not seeing him knocking on your door.”

“You wouldn’t – we’re meeting in the garage,” Carol points out, aiming to change the conversation’s direction but before she can follow up with something that will get Aqueela out of her room, someone literally knocks on the door. 

There is an excited twinkle in Aqueela’s eyes. “You sure he got that memo?” And she is off, out of the bedroom and at the door before Carol has caught up with her – only to find her saluting Deputy Director Hill, not Colonel Rhodes. 

“Oh, good evening, Maria,” Carol says, a little awkwardly. “Is there an emergency?”

“No, Colonel, no need to cancel your evening plans. I was wondering if I could have a word? In private?” Hill adds with a pointed look at Aqueela, who makes a graceful exit, motioning at Carol to call her over Hill’s shoulders. 

“What can I do for you, Maria?” 

Maria takes a second to answer and Carol notices her checking the panel next to the door of her quarters. For the privacy setting, maybe?

“My rooms are always in privacy mode, ma’am.”

“Good.” Apparently now satisfied, Maria refocuses her attention on her. “I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll make this brief.”

“It’s no trouble, ma’am.”

It is nothing more than a platitude since Carol needs to leave in two minutes and by the looks of it, Hill is perfectly aware of that. 

“You and Colonel Rhodes are friendly, Colonel, aren’t you?”

There seems to be an overarching theme to tonight’s visitors, Carol muses. “We’re friends.”

“And as friends, you share stories of your work day, upcoming missions, and so forth, correct?”

Carol feels her brow crease. “We do. Is that a problem, ma’am?

“Not at all, Colonel.” The following smile does nothing to appease her, though. “It is fortunate, actually, since the Avengers seem to be planning something without keeping us in the loop.”

 _Ah, so that’s what this is about._ “You want me to find out details.” As Hill inclines her head, Carol continues, “I will need more than that, Deputy Director.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. The Avengers recently discovered a highly classified and long running SHIELD mission that is so ‘eyes only’ that we don’t even have electronic files. Now they’re snooping around. The Director and I believe the team might be taking this into their own hands. Now, we can’t order you to do anything since you aren’t under SHIELD’s command; however I hope you will do this favor to me as a friend, as a sign of good faith.”

The _‘Or I will go through the proper channels and have the DoD order you to do it’_ goes unsaid, yet Carol hears it nevertheless. 

She salutes to confirm the order, and Hill wishes her a wonderful evening, her smile finally genuine and less strained. Carol ends up being five minutes late to the rendezvous point, yet thankfully Jim is familiar with what meetings with the MoD entail so he waves off her apologies. 

“You look good,” he says, then tilts his head a bit, eyes on the small, circular pendant. “Didn’t I see Tony make that?”

“He did; said I needed accessories to the Scarlet Edge watch,” Carol explains pulling back her sleeve to reveal the familiar device. 

Jim makes an appreciative sound. “If his company needs another branch, he should go into jewelry.”

“If you say so,” Carol concedes, then jingles her keys. “You want me to drive?”

Yet Jim’s grin widens as he shakes his head. “I asked Tony and we get to take one of his. I mean,” he backtracks, suddenly bashful for mysterious reasons, “if that’s all right with you, Carol?”

“I’ve never seen his car collection, so I couldn’t really say.”

It was the wrong thing to say because that leads to Jim waxing poetry about brands Carol has never even heard of for the next fifteen minutes as they walk over to Tony’s private lot. She would be annoyed if the topic didn’t light up Jim’s features as much as it does, the enthusiasm almost close to when he talks about quality television. 

“Most of his restored old timers are still in Manhattan, so we get to pick one of the newer models.”

“Why does he have so many cars? Wouldn’t two do?”

“Of course they would, but ‘moderation’ isn’t Tones’ middle name. Besides, most of the vintage cars are from Howard.”

“So Tony buys new ones out of spite?”

“Someone read SHIELD’s profile on my best friend, it would seem.”

“All in the name of research,” Carol admits, then looks from Jim to the line of six gleaming vehicles. “Gentlemen’s choice. You’re driving.” 

They end up taking a W Motors Lykan Hypersport in royal blue that accelerates from zero to 100 km/h within 2.8 seconds according to Jim, so at least they will reach the art gallery on time. They spend the first half hour talking TV shows, yet it isn’t quite as relaxing as it usually is since Carol’s mind flashes back to Maria’s request every few minutes. 

“I had a curious visitor today,” she finally says, coming to a decision. 

“Oh, who?”

“Deputy Director Hill.”

“Aren’t you neighbors? What did she want?”

“She asked me to find out what you and the team are planning to get your hands on those classified files.” 

Jim barely twitches and if she had not been spending a lot of time with the man, Carol wouldn’t even have noticed the minute tightening of his jaw and his fingers on the steering wheel. 

His laugh, too, sounds barely forced. “Now I know why you don’t have an illustrious career in espionage, Carol.”

She smiles wryly, waiting for him to ask the question clearly visible in the lines of his body. 

“So, uh, why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m not a pawn that SHIELD can use whenever they feel like it. Because I believe in transparency. Because you and the team are my friends, not just my subjects. Take your pick.”

“And when Hill asks what you found out?”

“I’ll tell her you were being cagey but didn’t reveal anything.”

There is a pause, then Jim turns to face her, eyes soft. “Thank you,” he says, sounding both surprised and infinitely pleased. 

Carol returns his smile with every fiber of her being as they hold each other’s gaze until Carol clears her throat and Jim, thankfully, focuses his attention back on the road again.

The weird atmosphere that envelopes them for the rest of the ride doesn’t go away when Jim hands over the keys to the valet at the prestigious gallery in Chelsea, and follows them through the exhibits. Carol picks out her aunt’s works in under ninety seconds and feels pride blooming in her chest when she notices how much the other guests in their dresses and suits appreciate them. 

Jim is in a suit as well, light grey with a Iron Patriot blue shirt but no tie, cutting a very attractive figure. Yet the fact that Carol’s brain notices does not mean her libido does as well. Her libido hasn’t noticed much of anything ever since she lost her legs, which is normal according to the Air Force psychiatrist she has been required to see. 

Another reason to add to the list of why this evening really should not be a date. 

Unfortunately Jim proceeds to charm both her aunt Maggie and Police Commissioner Shaw, who is in attendance as well, making a point of buying one of Maggie’s more expensive creations in an arrogant display of wealth and power. Carol remembers Steve voicing some unease regarding the man, and she can but agree with the assessment. 

It is a nice evening despite being forced to call Shaw by his first name and trying to convey to Maggie that Colonel Rhodes is not her boyfriend while the man in question is getting them drink. 

“Let me walk you to your door; it’s only polite,” Jim says when the elevator stops on Carol’s floor later that night, and suddenly her heart is beating in her throat instead of her chest. 

Maybe… 

Jim seems to be thinking along similar lines, for he pauses after wishing her goodnight. His eyes flicker down – just the merest hint of a glance, but Carol catches it nonetheless. She doesn’t dare take another breath as she waits for Jim to make a move… but when it comes, it is not the move she anticipated. 

Jim’s smile falters minutely, then he simply nods at her and turns to go, leaving Carol blinking at his retreating back. 

“I didn’t take you for a coward, Jim,” slips out of her mouth before she can stop it. 

He stops and turns, the grin he is sporting decidedly fake. “Pardon?”

“I said, I didn’t take you for a coward.”

Both of his eyebrows twitch at that, and he gives her a pointed look. True – she could have made a move just as much as he. Could be making a move right now, as a matter of fact. 

At that moment, she gets his hesitation. If she were to step forward, close the distance, and kiss him… then what? She is his LO, he’s an Avenger… She doesn’t have legs, let alone a sex drive. It would be complicated and presumably messy. No, scratch that – _definitely_ messy. If they keep the status quo, if they continue as they have, then the risk of either of them getting hurt are dwindling close to zero. 

In the end, Carol does not move. Jim must have seen her thoughts reflected in her features, for his eyes soften and he inclines his head before resuming his way back to the elevator. 

This time, Carol does not call him back. 

* 

Clint almost laughs at the blatantly obvious motion sensors in the air vents. Any half-decent crook would realize there have to be more security measures in place, and frankly those who don’t deserve to be caught red-handed. 

As it is, Clint retrieves one of the gadgets Tony supplied him with and does a sweep, then disables the remaining sensors before advancing further into the maze of shafts and wires. 

Today marks the third time he has gathered his gear, ready to sneak into the Playground and missing a trip to his kids, yet they’re currently having fun at summer camp so Clint can’t really complain (he does anyway). The other two times he was called back at the last second since Barnes noticed a glitch in Coulson’s behavior, thus exposing him as the Life Model Decoy that he was. The real Phil was undoubtedly waiting patiently in his office for any of the Avengers to break in and look for his hard copy of the file on the Inhumans. 

Instead, this time around it is Clint who settles into Phil’s office chair, propping his feet up on the desk while flipping through the file he took from Phil’s safe until the door opens not one minute after he expected it to. 

“Get your feet off my desk, Agent Barton,” is the first thing Phil says to him since their epic failure of a reunion in February, coming to a stop three steps from his desk. 

“But I cleaned them,” Clint mocks, waiting another second or two before complying. He also flips the file closed and turns the chair so that he is facing his former handler turned Director. 

“I see you found what you were looking for.”

“Wasn’t that hard, sir,” Clint says with a nod over his shoulder, indicating the safe. He’s not even lying. 

The slightest hint of a scowl appears on Coulson’s face. “Our science department assured me that was impenetrable.”

Clint grins, waving the second device he got for the mission. “Tony gave me some toys. Your squints never stood a chance.”

Phil inclines his head, knowing when he’s been beaten. 

A few moments pass in silence before the man eventually asks, “So how do you want to do this, Agent Barton?”

Clint can’t help the snort that escapes him. “Please, sir, if you wanted to arrest me for treason you’d have brought a couple of your best agents. Even then it’s highly unlikely they’d have been able to take me down. I mean, not to brag or anything, but I’ve been sparring with some really strong fighters lately.”

“Because bragging is not your thing at all,” Phil teases, and for a heartbeat it feels like they’re back in a past when things were good between them and they used to banter their way through missions via their comm links. 

Something seizes inside Clint’s chest. 

“You’ve done more than spar, if I’m not mistaken,” Coulson adds then, and it takes Clint a second to catch on. 

He rises from his chair with a scowl. “Oh no, you don’t get to do that, sir – ”

“I wasn’t implying anything. I’m glad you found someone again.”

Clint glowers. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, Clint?”

“Be all supportive and understanding. Makes it hard to hate you.”

Coulson arches an eyebrow at that. “Do you? Hate me, I mean.”

Clint is about to shoot back a scathing remark, yet decides against it at the last minute. He didn’t wait around in the office for five minutes to act like a petulant five year old. He raised two of them, so he knows that’s never fun. 

“Not anymore,” he admits eventually and watches as something like relief spreads over Phil’s features, almost as if the unresolved issues between them have plagued the Director as much as Clint refuses to acknowledge they plagued him. 

“Good. Now get out of my office before Hill sees you.”

Clint smirks, dropping the file onto the desk before rounding it. “Aye, sir, Director Coulson.” He also adds a mock-salute, catching the smile playing about Phil’s lips as the man walks behind his desk. 

“You don’t want to take the file, Agent Barton?” 

Clint turns around, schooling his expression to hide the giddy glee he’s feeling right now. He wishes he had sound effects for what’s coming next. 

“What would I want with a fake file, sir?”

For the third time in his life, Clint gets to witness Phil Coulson rendered speechless. It’s a hilarious picture, all owlish blinks and parted lips.

Now it is Clint’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. “The real one’s in your actual safe behind the Captain America poster.” He points towards the vintage framed monstrosity. “Already scanned it and sent it back to Stark. Just figured I’d wait for you to spring your trap on me.”

A beat. 

“You knew this was a trap and you walked into it anyhow?”

“Guess we had to have our heart-to-heart at some point because you sure as hell weren’t coming to me, Coulson,” Clint snaps, a littler harsher than probably necessary and fully aware of how it will affect the man. 

Phil’s face falls. 

Hook, line, sinker. The world’s best marksman strikes again. 

To his credit, Coulson has caught himself in the blink of an eye. Some things even death cannot change. 

“You’re not the agent I remember, Barton.”

“Well, the agent you remember hasn’t lost his handler, or been mind controlled by a Norse god, or lost his wife.”

“Or met Pietro Maximoff.”

Clint smiles. “Yeah, guess not.”

He sees it, then, that woeful flicker in Phil’s eyes that he first saw after Clint told him about his wife and kids, years ago that night in Budapest. In his darker moments, Clint has thought a lot about what could have been, about parallel universes and alternate realities, wondering if there is one out there where Phil and he had better timing. 

Right now, however, he’s glad to be on this very earth, because in this reality he gets to go home to someone whom Clint loves, and is loved back by. 

“Goodnight, Phil,” he whispers. 

Phil swallows. His eyes are guarded once again. “Be safe, Clint.”

“Aren’t I always, sir?”

Before Phil can reply, Clint exits the office, disappearing through the vent through which he came in. 

 

[tbc]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many feels right now it’s not even funny. My inner Phil/Clint shipper is soothed by the screen time they just had, even though I wish I could give Phil a hug… And I have to stop myself from locking Carol and Jim into a room and throwing away the key until they get their act together… *sighs* Ignore me, I secretly love the fact that my characters never listen to me. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Cдаюсь = I surrender (thanks to Venin for correcting me!)
> 
> Follow [this link](http://www.wmotors.ae/hypersport-360-blue.html%20) to admire the W Motors Lykan Hypersport, and for more car porn [click here](http://www.digitaltrends.com/cars/the-top-ten-most-expensive-cars-in-the-world/). I imagine Tony owning at least a few of those. *drools* 
> 
> **Regarding future updates:** I still have this entire fic outlined in my head, but my Muse simply doesn’t want to write in this fandom at the moment. So, as much as it pains me, this is **officially ON HIATUS**. I will finish it, I promise.  
>  Please don’t complain about it in the comments; feeling like I’m almost alone in caring about this fic is part of what caused my lack of motivation and I don’t need more negative energy. On the other hand, bless all you who commented and left kudos on this so far – I can’t put into words how much they make my day!


End file.
